The Cynic Communtity

Cute things I witnessed today   ~Miss A No way I'm doing this, for if so, I'll have so much to dump everyday, But I wanna specially pen it down today for some reason, so let's begin. Cute things that I witnessed today, that's how my day started, A bit cold, a tad tired as it should be, but then there was rain drizzle. Empty roads, small shops still opening business at five thirty, cute, Sweet smell of the milk tea, and a happy psscht of arranging snack packets. The park, filled with energetic pigeons, reigning it like the landlord, The lone dog acting like the king boundaries, owing it all. Oh work, what a droid, now it's gonna be boring right, Saw a girl skinny and judged, pushing up the ramp like a model, Yes! Confidence. You go girl! Woohoo!  Craved chocolate, sweet, will count it in. Saw a disabled woman lacking legs, with a son of about age thirteen, And the son hid in her Saree's Aanchal and slept, while her mother caressed his hair in a bliss. Found anoth

Mewling brew Constant strangeness ~Miss A A morning maze, gripping shoulders back to bed, Heavy eyelids says to jump back into the dreams, Dreams of me fighting and running to save you, Wei o wei me no scared o d daggers,  Hanging on my neck, the earth's coming to haul, Breaking down, getting me underwater, in negative slo-mo. Yet all I see in the shadows casting over the surface, As I manage to come up for air, notice the sirens chanting your name, In a hurry and praying my all in line, like groping on miracle beads, Haunts me to know, you're so important to me, how to keep this a secret, For if they take you one day, I'm losing my all just to have you back, And that's what I'm doing in this fanatsy, shouldn't be slightest of inconvenience for you. Fight for me my dear, and I'm gonna catch you by your hand before you fall, A saviour of yours I wanna be, but that sounds just not like me, Let's try something new again, let me hold your hand, When you fall

Yellow Decorations ~Miss A I look in the mirror, I have grown, but look the same as before; Learned to breathe, learned to quiver, learned to stain a cast, yet uneducated. Foolish wishes from the undergrounds of the heart which I wished then, Would have better been true then, 'cuz for now, it spears ridiculousness. I'll try it once again, even when it smells sick, with an agenda to motivate self, What am I looking for, seem disconnected from reality more than ever, never care. Never to wake early, caring for a slight hope for mischief, Beside, par all, a happy run from what to escape, came easy. Freedom has no taste, without the terrorised pain, a roaring adventure, Now I'm on ground, no chains, but unable to run from the cage. Oh petite thoughtfullness, push me back me choas, see me dive, All the sweet memos is crawling my brain like sugar starch. If it was then, I would have begged to see it today, Ruthless, for even the past few years upcoming, I see it bizzare. When wou

Peddling ghosts ~ Miss A Where do dreams come from, a question, Or are the characters so defined, a crossover? As I realise, every thing I notice, or like sub-notice, Are either there as a pivot, based on the sentiments they reverted, Or the main second characters, if I had an opinion to think, Some just half build distortions of 'em, some absolutely new. The breach between the eyebrows, to the form of settling of the eyes, For lord's stake, I'm staring too long, hypnotized by each being, what is this! Trying to understand the architecture, no matter the subject being a child or an old, The differences I see, and then to trace down similarly, feels like real gold. But what's the power they hold? For some in my dreams just weaklings, Some appear like a live-savers, some like peddling ghosts. The one holding the seniority, sadly isn't the one who's save this damsel in distress, It rather occurs to be the one who feels like the death of me. Trying to pedal stones a

Silenced operations  ~ Miss A Raging soaring rhythms, and an eye for the keeper, Steal some moments, go tippy toes, disappear, With a friend of yours as dark as the night, A method of escapism, of being alone, of being with yourself and the souls crying. They keep giving suggestions, not to look at the mirror down moonlight, Oo how beautiful, charges the voice of the night, stirring pure choas in sight, Dweeling in the warmth of the silver dark light, How to not be mesmerized, facades are traumatizing. Deep plum purple paints, tough blood staining red,  and blue of galaxy shades, All tend to highlight the tone, hugging at right places,  But nothing suits as perfectly as the moon lit tone itself, Suddenly all the drowsiness fades away, and all is left are the wind blows and the thunder. In a battle of bluffs, you taught me to say the truth, not my thing, But it seems like a new game must be played now that you win, Oh no be smart, don't do this shite again, what you have on bet is a

 Frustrating art   ~Miss A Little to the delve like a heart frustrating, Crave the stones into one single being.  A thought of art and the artist cries, For to bring it to life; he's beyond unqualified. For wandering in the dense shrubs of the garden, He's found a melody, sung by the bees on the leaves by the rain. A hymn he found just so pure, he wishes it to dictate, Easy as it occurred; quickly lost its trail to the complicated. How many musicals have been played, of it were to the debris of nature, Fine mallets and brushes, and he'd crave an instrument. Something which could sustain the warmth of the player, Something which resonated the blows of time and verse the hunger. Coat it with innocence, mask it with unclosed eyes, ecstasy and rejoice, And to make it hollow, give it space, to hold some insights.  But how to do this with stones, nothing so complex like this sculpture, No beginning no end, how to build a breathing Brent. To build a brain passage, scribbles filled