Thoughts abide the painful
inflict pain umong the ones who deserve such instant of disgrace

love is but a blister of madness and hate
counterfit unto one
love cant be measured
yet we still try to comprehend such impass of madness and sorrow
disguising it as happines and as a meaning of life, if not the meaning of life.
how sublime is such ingenuity, fit only among stupid beings as ourselves
never knowing what is love, but a thin thread of madness and sorrow.
never of happines and joy, those are imposing images by our unconcciousnes crescending to our conscienceness. even though can we blame but ourselves at thinking that love involves happines and a sense of living. we shade any well being as loves hand, as a loving memory, as a  lovely evening. how naive can we be at such premise. 

I hate, I love, I cry in midst of redemption 
imparting eternal journeys of sorrow and grief
shall my solitude be my only companion? 
shall she, shall he, shall it simply be my forever one ?
my only one to love and miss. my emptyness are you there once more? 
can I sleep in your lap as my tears shed upon my once perceptive face? 
shall my twilight be but your death imprisoned upon celestial desires? 
true solitude should acompany my loneliness?