Was it just yesterday,
That we promised each other forever?
Oh, but words are brittle than clay,
Was it just yesterday,
That I knew every inch of your soul?
Well I guess it’s time to pay,
I believed your words,
And you pierced me with swords.


You’re playing with fire,
Don’t you fear getting burnt?
Am an assassin for hire,
What if you die by my hand?
You play with the thin line between life and death,
So unaware that this could be your last breath,
Ignorant of the fact that I’ve crossed to the other side,
Little one, run, hide,
Don’t be fooled by this façade,
Love is a lie, man – made,
And I am a monster ,
Go, I hear my demons calling.


Hi, are you there?
Did you ever really care?
Can we go on an evening walk,
Hold hands and maybe talk?
Do I even exist in your world?
You view everything with the eyes of a child,
Believing in the goodness of everyone,
Trusting that the good always won,
How about me,
Who is as terrible as they could all be,
Who has shown you the depths of depravity and the highs of need,
Who only to your dark desires feed,
It’s 3am,
Hi, are you there?
Can we talk?


Published by Wanja Joseph

Writing to me is like breathing. Sometimes it's voluntary and subconscious. Other times it's frantic, like gasping for breath. And sometimes, well, I forget to do it! Not for long though.

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