Secrets of Yesterday

He, as the sun rise upon the morrow,
opens his eyes with the deepest sorrow.
wonder why the night had to end
wonder why the lights had to pretend (of the new days glory)
he has no strength to face the new day,
yesterday’s tomorrow.

Up on the bed he sits
with head held low
caressed by the hand
the same hand that wishes to crush his own skull
rupture it into pieces
puncture the bones.
while he is submerged on these wicked thoughts
like the submarine on the pacific
the eyes are shut.
He cant bare to see
what is HE!

Like a wounded bull in a fight
he takes a deep breath
a panic in his heart
racing like a mad dog.
Grinds the teeth with utmost agony
and clinches his fists.
At the turtle’s pace
Takes a couple of steps
nears the table and
he leans on to it.
He closes his eyes again
visualizing the past
like a 3D movie;
the recent past,
yesterday is what he thinks of.

jerks out the drawer
takes out his gun.
the revolver has a single bullet
he plays the Russian roulette.
At point blank range
he pulls the trigger
he is dead.
How lucky he must have wondered!!

as the blood flows
there goes his sorrow
no more tomorrow.
Along with the blood paint,
and the brain graffiti
there lies his deepest secret on the wall.




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