The Author
All this time, I thought, I am someone who can do anything.
Yet when time comes to prove, here I am, still at nothing.
Living in a fictional world, of gold, grand and glory.
A loser full of lies, the man of worthless stories.
Countlessly I hoped to myself, someday someone will understand me.
Yet tonight proves again, that that hope itself is a misunderstanding.
With knees flat on the floor, begging for an after-drought rain.
Before the pendent cross, I yearn for a God that never came.
Each day gets lonelier, singing sad songs and writing stories.
A performer with no listeners, no one to share his worries.
Life became meaningless, as death appeared bolstered.
Yet even at the brink, still just a spineless coward.
So let’s all raise a drink, upon the sky that never clears.
Scream the unceasing pain, while we drown with all the beers.
Receive at last, precious love, from a paper and a pen.
A fanless poetry, our stories from today and then
