Love is the drug.

adrift upon the four winds,
were your romantic evasive words,
by which you immersed
the grazing herds,
into empty symbolism and myth.
I was gassed to death
by cupid's baby breath
any sensibility suffocated by
plastic consumerist lullabies.
I let passion claim our souls
in return for a good ending -
and drawn-in roles.


-  By Laila Ali Haid

Dying to confuse

dying to confuse

lying, and so obtuse 

burnt on a whisper of praise 

leaving me on a smoked daze.

This pathology cannot be explained,

it lies within the maze

of psycho-fancies and spineless interpretations,

they will never understand,

as you make depression your brand,

that you live on imitation --

isn't that what life essentially is?

I must say

the ponderous will never avert, 

the day of the darkest lay --

your grave. 

 

- By Laila Ali Haid