To my past

Don't stand in the way of my dreams.
Don't try to make me think about all the sweet memories that I don't own.
Don't make me worship a god that fails to exist. . .

Something in me wants to break
and I've decided to let it fall apart.

It's been a long ride on the train of my ignorant cynical soul mates.
I couldn't remember anything for so long,
But now I do.

I remember how innocently you would laugh while lying to me;
how tired I was when you would call me
and how naively,
like a good puppy,
I would recognize you voice.

It wouldn't have mattered to you
if I was wearing a swastika,
a cross or a pentagram,
or just my heart around my neck.

Today I realized that I truly am capable of killing...
now I want to be a wolf,
and I would slay every lamb just for the heck of it.

Do you remember?
Your hands were shaking while you were saying the last "Fateha" beside my bed...
it took me a long time to look
and only when I was being stepped on and crushed like a dried leaf,
I had a chance to see…
to see a light,
smeared with blood,
from behind my closed eyes.

It is so hard to spit out so much hate...
Weren't I the idiot that kept looking at the finger
when it was pointing to heaven?

Now I'm just lost in a limbo.
There was a time when I was longing for silence;
but all I could hear was your dry,
deafening bellowing.

Now that I'm dead
and my days are filled with silence
the tittering of little worms that are eating my flesh
reminds me of you.

Now if you are writing another story about a little star
that lives behind a fairy tale,
drinks tea and thinks how wonderful it is
that it's not raining tonight,
just remember...
remember that it was my hands
that warmed your dead stony heart...

I've walked all your walkable paths
and I already know that the story ends
with a black hole.

Let go of this lure of life and let us all die...
once and for all...

You don't know me,
Nobody knows how many lives I've lived,
and nobody knew
how thin the walls,
behind which we shared our deadliest secrets, were.

I know by heart,
all the stories of the prostitute that used to live next door.

I am the question
and I have all the possible answers.

I am a white lie on your big fat black heart.
I'm a loop-hole in God's eternal plan.
And I am the black blood that gushes out of your heart
when I thrust the dagger in it.
I'm the epitome of a mistake.
I'm the responsible misfit,
for all the unwanted happiness,
and ungranted wishes.
I don't want a flame;
I am the fire.
I am the thirst,
quench me.

Splash some water and wake me up
from the bitter nightmare of being.

At least give me a soul to want it back from me.
If I turn inward,
who would find me?

I've found shelter in my own hands.
You,
set me on fire.

I was just a millisecond in perpetuity,
and you were all my years...

I'm blinded by death
and I'm reading the letter of my sins in my grave
so loudly that I can not hear that God is knocking on my door.

I lock all the doors
thinking that you can never come back,
But you are just like an infection,
you're in me...

I would have told you how much I hated you
if only I hadn't pitied those lovers of yours
that without you,
are only old rotten corpses.

I was so brimming with hatred
that I thought you would bend under the guilt...

Maybe if I had broken the illusion of your presence earlier,
I wouldn't have blamed you so much.

I linger in a trance now
and you write to me about youth
and life
and opportunities.

But I have only one line to write to you,
You are dead,
just like me,
and you still don't know it.

Dec 01, 08 Tehran Iran