PEFECT CRIME....

Moonlight grazed the lake last night,
As stars aligned for a beautiful sight.
Her radiant eyes sparked a flame;
Whispers from the wind called her name.

Sitting on a bench with a lovely view,
There was nothing I would rather do.
Leaning her head against my shoulder,
I kept her warm as the night grew colder.

The crime scene was perfectly placed;
Go in for the kill, with no time to waste.
I grinned as I gently kissed her forehead.
“Baby, I love you so much,” I softly said.

She opened her glamorous eyes so wide.
“I love you too,” she smilingly replied.
Kissing her lips, I showed my affection;
In that moment, there was a connection.

Together we committed the perfect crime,
Stolen from our loves, that precious time
We left no fingerprints, no reason, no trace—
Then went home to our lovers' embrace

AM I DEAD!!!!!!!!!

The doors are open,
and the windowpanes are swaying.
Quietly, I lie upon the floor, motionless—
am I dead?

Silence echoes through the room,
while dust grows thicker on the books.
The walls seem to close around me,
and still I wonder—
am I dead?

The room is as deserted as a grave.
I see myself lying on the floor;
then I fall to my knees
and whisper a prayer for myself.
I must be dead.

But who is he, kneeling there,
praying for my soul?
If that is me—and not some dying dream—
then tell me,
how can I be dead?

My morals are buried, my spirit extinct;
my heart rings false, my love indistinct.
Every word I speak becomes a mournful breath—
perhaps there are crueller things
than death.

I stand beside myself in mourning,
paying tribute to the man I used to be.
I have travelled too far to find the road back,
yet something in me refuses to leave.

So, God, if this is what it means to live—
half a man, half a memory instead—
don't leave me here to mourn myself.
Tell me why I am not dead.

Last Decibels

I lose the lightness of being myself

through the last few breaths I exhale.

The fear installs itself upon me;
it grows darker, and I grow pale.

The world around me revolves, making
the last moments even more woeful and dark.
It's not Earth's rotation, 'cause
I know I am already part of the Earth.

The people around me seem to come close,
although I know they are going away.
Who will hold my hand now
when souls all around seem to decay?

All the sounds have started fading away.
I can feel my time is almost over.
I can't hear the last decibels muttered;
down I go, sinking lower and lower.

I tried to give my best, didn't I?
I am the only one who thinks so.
I am a part of the past now;
it's time for the seed over my grave to grow.