Buzzkill

things are serene,
as long as you are you,
things are fine,
as long as you are pure.

a putiry coming from innerself,
gets spiked when you anticipate
a happy aura from the other shelf,
riddled with its own termite

and when it bites you,
damn a major buzzkill,
worse than waterboarding,
awakening you to a reality,
where every one look gory,
and you find no amusement
in the company of the innocents,
withdrawing away to yourself,
to get back to what you were,
an unquestionable individuality,
in its purest form,
manifesting into this sustainable
mother of all eternal emotions,
all praise and glory to... self-love.

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And the train doesn't halt,
world passing by unreachable,
i wave and it's not my fault,
if i don't see them waving back.

standing tall at the exit,
feeling the wind blowing into the face,
eyes closed, faint memories of hurt
happiness, epiphany, revolving

passing clouds, drenching rains,
nauseating hypocrisies, that weak innocence,
people cheating their own heart
for a moral sense defined by someone else.

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