At the Edge

Souvenir of the past hours,
Crisped with the exclusivity of life.
Time swirling away
Like the sea shore hurling away after touching the sand.

my time of here is Sojourn,
and i can't rejoice because have no abilty to sustain;
Iam out of it;
For once and all.

Happiness always drifts away,
Much Sooner than I ever expect.
Iam here empty handed with the feelings;
That I will never be able to linger on.

Impossible is so certain that it impedes my
Every definite act.
Iam crying in vain because I don't know;
How to thrust back the power of be me?

My sins and blackened soul;
Drinking the hallucination of demons.
What was my crime?
That I used to write??

Well if this is my illegal act;
Then Iam definitely obsessed with it.
This what I owe;
as Being so weaken up.

writing is my only realm;
My domain.
So self-centered,
And prior to me.

A conflict;
So influential,
smudged with the scheduled cyanical,
And sarcasmic emotions.

Now my feelings so much mustered up;
Yelled up with the remnant of desperation,
And the wealth of aggression;
Like hell.

Iam drinking up the sorrow,
With the feeling so hung up;
At the edge of 18 Iam buncking;
skipping the left hours of my life.