In splits always…but it pains..

it is quite ironical…

often bordering on sheer absurdity…

often let loose by the rabid dogs of a conscience questioning..

that surrounded by all the injustice..

sophisticated and refined..

surrounded by all the filth..

proud to rot and shine..

i always break into splits uncontrollable..

and it goes on and on…

covering many a split..of seconds and minutes endless..

it's quite cynical..

that’s the common reaction of the witnesses ignorant..

but it’s at least worth something..

than a mute existence numb..

or a rash protest that could result..

in a bullet nice and well metalled..

being lodged right up..

where all reality matters actually…

i know sometimes one should be sensitive..

and sometimes one should know..

the limits of being sarcastic…

but if my scars only know the voices..

that confuse and confound…

then i can’t intervene much..

so i express this..

as all my fellow observers..

type away at their assignments mindlessly…

running after grades and marks..

as it is worth more than..

sheer drops of blood..

that i would have been a lot less fun..

if things could have been more direct or blunt…

just like the jagged edges of a war torn sweiis knife..

so for the sake of pleasure..

for like everyone else of neurons and a mind..

i too need some..

i just play around..

in games curved and twisted..

in satire that paints always..

a mocking smile…

yet within that laughter instant..

lies a deep regret and a despair infinite..

and a protest shadowy…

that demands…

all the splits be eradicated..

laughter truly freed to become boundless smiles..

all the exploitation be put to a stop..

and let us all bask..

for ages endless..

with shared bliss..

and happiness truly divine…

and then i no longer need to break into

those epileptic and quite painful..

fits of empty splits…

for i say with the vows of the stars.

that my scars are becoming too tired..

to influence and express eternally..

without any coherent deadline...

something that still rings a few conch shells..

for it is slowly dying..

deprived of love..

in an atmosphere of overwhelming hatred….

so i can’t just into a crescent repressed..

anymore….

my thoughts