Stories

I leave the best of my stories incomplete.
The good ones suffice to compete.

The best ones don't deserve an end,
They must live my lifetime,
I bid my characters goodbye,
But our stories are forever mine.

Not to be shared,
Never to be written,
Not for me to narrate,
Not for anyone to ever listen.

When the end knocks,
I run away.
'Cause no one will really ever matter.
But the stories?
Always!

Farewell

It's been a welcome night,
Lonely, quiet, free.
Sans mankind, the kind that suffocates,
And the self that I never wanted to be.

A couple of small bottles by my side,
And cigarettes that burn like the fire inside.

I ponder over the past,
Take notes of the present.
I abhor the future I see.
The misfortunes of the past,
Now seem decent.

I think, on this particular crossroads of life,
I know where I am supposed to head to.

To the world that doesn't believe in you,
You simply bid a premature adieu.