Dreams

This is not a very cheery, bright post like the name suggests..So all you people who don't wanna hear bitching & wimpering, please leave..Well, the following poem is one of the most macabre and low grade poems I've ever written..Maybe it's 'cos I'm totally confused about what life is & what I wanna do with mine.And most of all, why am I so fed up with mine that I'm becoming suicidal..The ideas I'm getting are funny and frightening at the same time..Maybe its 'cos I'm heart-broken..not in the sense of love-failure or anything..But like Pearl Buck said,"There are many ways of breaking a heart. Stories were full of hearts broken by love, but what really broke a heart was taking away its dream - whatever that dream might be".

Ode To My Dreams

They died eons ago & left me directionless,
Like a compass without the needle.
My "friends" pushed them to their graves;
Mine are the hands that buried them.
Now that I have no desire, no purpose,
I lead my humdrum existence in silence.
I still bleed from the fatal wound, inflicted by myself.
I'm waiting to become a ghost-a numb spectator of others' miseries.
But my time has not come yet;
I realise I must stay, until everything I hold dear
Meets its untimely death by my brutal hands;
Like my dreams-my victims;
For whom I mourn everyday.

I think I just need to accept the fact that no one dies a virgin-Life fucks all, and just move on and make the most of what I've left..But what must a girl do when everything she builds is undone the next day?Use better cement and mortar I guess..Please, somebody!!Make these voices in my head stop!!