Dear Diary,
Today is my birthday.
It's a typical day.
Creepy ghosts pass my way;
Tremendous nightmare ended yesterday.
Earthquake delusion started my day.
Everything seems perfect-a normal scenery
In their perfectly distorted symmetry.
The ghost whispers keep on telling me
No one would understand me-
A schizoid in the middle
Of this enigmatic life
Writing his execrated poetry
Making his picturesque fantasy
While dreaming of his own tragedy.
Nobody could fathom the contorted symmetry
That has cost me my valued sanity.
Everyday's a horror story-
I'm the thespian doomed for profanity
Because of my vile hypocrisy.
Could I solve the mystery
Of my misery and misanthropy
As the phantoms abide in my journey?
I'm frightened by the apparition
Bleeding with its own laceration
Draped in a bloody white cloth
Choking me in my sleep.
This is me,
I'm a walking catastrophe-
A living lie perfected through time.
I write in behalf of my lunacy,
Its crazy but its the reality.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem