Nightmares

What is this thrill we get out of doing the smallest forbidden things? Why is that we insist on doing something that we already know will go wrong? There is a thin line between dreams and reality...the people, who do not recognize the difference, are those who hurt and get hurt the most... I feel like a little bug, struggling, sinking deeper and deeper in a swamp knowing there would be no helping hand... It is as if people just love to see you in trouble, they just love to pity you, they love being sorry for you when deep inside they don't give a damn about you... it's like a nightmare...a nightmare I long to wake from, but seems like the sweet lullaby of their lies is keeping me trapped under the surface for ever, with no more air left to breathe... Would it be different? Would I feel different about them if I believe there is a little baby underneath those harsh frowns, those tough masks, craving attention, maybe a friendly hug? How can I tell them there's just a thin ice that needs to be broken, there's no need to an axe...there are no roots to my cold pretence... what do they want from me? Those sharpened nails standing by to scratch all the soft memories of my childhood... ready to cut all the wavy hair of my long lost happiness with their scissors of hatred... I miss the hands of god...I miss the time I used to fall asleep in his soothing hands while he would sing the sweetest lullabies of the truth... Sometimes silence rhymes with every word...like darkness rhymes with my days... Oct. 2007 Tehran Iran