ManicWorld Magazine

It’s not the bodies
 but the souls, 
roaming around me.

I’m not a writer 
just a freak, 
who can’t see
the world normally.

It’s not the two eyes
but the third one, 
that sees the true
 reality.

It’s their skin 
hiding their shades, 
so no one knows
 the true colour of harmony.

This isn’t a sweet saying
 but a red sword, 
that keeps passing
 through me.

It’s not those 
who hold you till the last, 
It’s those 
who tear you apart first.

It’s not me
 It’s a dead soul,
 looking for peace 
inside a dirty mold.