Claustrophilia

Living inside my worm hole of peace,
Confined by a parch of white
I seek no sympathy from the trailing world
That judges and doubts every existing thought
In the dilemma of dreams that they fail to possess.

My life is a shadowed misanthrope in tomb of desires
Painted by the whims of eternally glory
As I flinch and faint inside a cluttered cube
With nothing to regret to get me worried in the insipid world.

The nature pressingly clamps it's loving hands
Whenever I feel the urge to fly into the bunny's hole
If something wrong goes in my superficial existence
The cuckoo croons its melody with tear-stained eyes.

I play with words in my broken town made of alphabetic walls
Scrambling in the pandemic shawls of a psychedelic's paradise
Moments are stagnated within the paradigms of black and white
Whispering in a soft voices of grief, tampering with my mind.

This box is my home and my notions are set with straight curves
Never dithered by the lame withering apolitical views
People who don't live it shouldn't care any less or more
Since my life is a paradox of non-nonsensical symphonies.