Maybe, Some Other Day

There are things, I wanna say to you,

There are things, I wanna ask you,

There are things, I wanna give you,

There are things, I wanna hear from you,

There are things I wanna do with you,

Maybe, Some other day.

I am a Psychopath

I am a psychopath,

My life would end more like Sylvia Plath,

I have got a very sick mind,

Maybe, just one of a kind.

My life’s been a great distress,

For over li’l things I obsess.

Like a symmetrical light wave from a lantern,

World for me is just a beautiful pattern.

Numbers make more sense,

Than, words ever did.

Every teacher since pre-school mention,

I never paid them any attention.

Like an element that is radioactive,

I was so hyperactive

That I end up in loads of trouble,

No matter how much the punishments double.

I know, I never meet eyes,

Makes ‘em think I am full of lies.

I never feared the paranormal,

As thoughts about death for me is normal.

You might wonder,

Where are the rhymes?

There are no rhymes,

But patterns, and only patterns

Look closely and you will see reality,

Of my pale mentality.

I am not a Poet,

I am not a Physicist,

I am not Creative,

I am not Original,

I am not your Friend,

I am not your Lover,

I am just a Psychopath.

The Empty Tray

Coffee’s grown cold,

I was wondering why?

The rocking chair no longer rocks,

I was curious why?

The raindrops on the ground,

Were without their aroma,

I was puzzled why?

Blotches of ink that dripped down my quill,

No longer made sense,

I was confused why?

Then came the screech of the Loris,

And with that,

The coffee started to steam,

The chair began to slowly sway,

The fragrance of rain wafted in the air,

And inklings were a beautiful piece of poetry.

And there we see a Loris,

As our eyes meet,

She smiles at the superstitions,

Holding an empty tray.