Memories/Stories

God is dead: We killed her/him/it

With violence, with our conformity, with our silence

With rationality, arguments, and reasons,

With our turning coats and changing with seasons.

Even an atheist has his hell

It is the love for those he cares for; and not receiving it in return.

It is memories that he buys and stories that he sells.

It is the drunken whores with whom he shares his bed

He respects them more than your gods, kings and queens

We are in the midst of our lives,

Hell bent on ruining it, one drag at a time.

We are in the search of escape,

For intelligence kills our empathy, enlightenment ruins mystique

A kiss completed ruins the thirst,

Unmet lips a thing manifolds worse.

We keep going back to our patterns, decided upon before we are born.

A thousand years of biology, able yet unable to adjust and conform.

My confessions are yours; your miser-ability not a thing apart,

Meeting at the end while awaiting a start.

Finding answers and feeling worse than before

Selling our souls, not unlike a body sold by a whore.

To corporates, to society, to beliefs, to faith;

To love, to promises, to dreams, to hate.

Is silence the worst criminal of the lot? I argue,”No, milord.

I feel the worst is yet to come.”

There were promises of a revolution by the gun

There were promises of a Sun.

There were promises of the One.

Alas, promises are dopamine produced in laboratories now.

Packaged to incite our senses and sound.

Swim away while you can; the tide is down.

The night turns dark, I forget your face.

Chinese whispers commence, my urge to leave grows deep

But, I smile, it is your memories I get to keep.

Do you not realise that the easiest thing for me would have been to play the game?

To fight back, break bones and drive people insane?

I was a master of it; the sheep are the easiest to manipulate.

The more difficult path is the one I took.

Through the trials and the tribulations, these memories of yours help me smile.

And these, I won’t be selling as stories.

These, I will keep for my own.

For when I arrive in hell,

I will use as a promise of dawn.