All this time, I thought, I am someone who can do anything. Yet when time comes to prove, here I am, still at nothing. Living in a fictional world, of gold, grand and glory. A loser full of lies, the man of worthless stories. Countlessly I hoped to myself, someday someone will understand me. Yet tonight proves again, that that hope itself is a misunderstanding. With knees flat on the floor, begging for an after-drought rain. Before the pendent cross, I yearn for a God that never came. Each day gets lonelier, singing sad songs and writing stories. A performer with no listeners, no one to share his worries. Life became meaningless, as death appeared bolstered. Yet even at the brink, still just a spineless coward. So let’s all raise a drink, upon the sky that never clears. Scream the unceasing pain, while we drown with all the beers. Receive at last, precious love, from a paper and a pen. A fanless poetry, our stories from today and then