The Dark Truth

The dark truth; There is nothing good in falling, nothing good in fainting Just getting hurt, and blacking out. Blacking out is missing in action and bleeding is bleeding. There is nothing interesting in dreaming, nothing helpful in admiring Just the misconception about sound sleep and the annoying urge Craving is not attaining; variance in quality discerns means of acquisition. There is no good in saying sorry, pay back enrages less. Humanity seeks vengeance. Forgiveness is getting even Humanity seeks vengeance, forgiving tastes bitter. Bitter is bitter, sadness is sadness, the feeling is what it is. There is no cure for being blue; there is no tonic for melancholy. To heal is accepting to live with the sad memories. Like there is an option. There is never going back, there is never going beyond your existence. Ghosts are real and hallucination is not insanity. Time travel is fiction. Madness is living in the two worlds; of apparitions and scientists. Science is real. There is nothing like water. Substitutes are either too saccharine or too nasty Water is like living within your means, metaphorical lemons are the suffering selfless The sweet are the most vulnerable, the lost in their lost courses. Pursuit has an end and not certainly at an arrest, fatigue saves the guilty. Failure doesn’t show the image of success. Success is just success. Failing again and again is a fair warning. Success will always be illusive. Shrinks are not for inspiration, money is their inspiration The work of the poor is not to make examples out off as humility. Anger is the best example of self-control. Fighting is the worst part of it. Being poor as being rich comes in different forms, Being rich can be luck but not certainly hard work, stealing takes you there. Working for something gives you exactly that thing, extra is comforting. Bliss; bliss, bliss, ignorance is not bliss. Perhaps death The silence, the silence and the silent residence… Then death is not the only scary thing. Solitude is too. Poetry; this is one of them, buried in voices of scaring truth. Poetry is not words either, poetry is life and life is everything, poetry is anything. Something sad, something glad, and anything you may add. Try the bad.