You can’t drink the ocean liquid
Salty it is—so are my tears
Shelter to its inhabitants—home to my feelings
Where I drown in its liquor
Just so I can see beauty
But darkness I see deep down in it,
As I float upon the bloody sea of mammals.
My heart mimics the rhythm of a clock
As my head records each passing second as they run into minutes;
To hours, into days, followed by months, ending in years.
Years of carried burden, but truly
If there was a clock
Bring me it, so I can travel through time,
And fix this world of pain.
If there was a book
Bring it to me, so I can write down my sorrows
And burn them in flames
If only doing so would bring me joy
For my ability to write reminds me I’m human
That which is the very beginning of my sad tale
For humans are nothing but ‘God’s created monsters’
If there was a telephone,
Bring it to me, so I can call this God
And ask him why he created me, man and us
Oh I forgot, he wouldn’t pick up
Because we are in his own image and likeness
So he wouldn’t want to hear his nagging self
But then, isn’t he such a Cruella?
Why create this image of hate, pain, agony, and evil
In a world full of misery from top to bottom?