A bridge of Horror.

I am lost again. Somebody, please find me.
The mirror streets, they all look the same.
On the sidewalk, people lay rocked with me,
it itches, like a needle in the heart to see,
Some push, some kick, some break and some kill.

Times it's wondering how we are lost on the road,
the fields look nakedly clear brown to the eye.
As i move on and try to understand my surroundings,

I have been gathering dry moss and paper rings.
Dry moss makes me feel how timid and sticky i am
under the open skies and across the horizon.

The paper rings hurt the most without a doubt,
they breach in and the poor honest is forced out.
Women screaming on the beds of nails in pain
while their men fighting for the false pride i see.

I have been there, seen it all. I need to tell somebody,
the feigned calm and beauty has chained me again.

                         I want to talk to somebody before i get lost again.

Crossroads

At the crossroads where reality meets fiction,
I stare both the sides hoping i am the wiser one.
Holding down the breath of fate i take a dive,
gasping for a bar of air i feel numb and alive.

Here i drop down deep through the passage just in time,
there are other crossroads to stare and to toss the dime.
There are many questions and many more queued in a line,
where do i begin when i myself stand somewhere in the line.