Happiness and Morality

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What is Happiness?

A chance?
or 
A choice?



If happiness is really a choice,
why can't we choose 
it over morality?

If happiness is really a chance,
why should we 
be morally right?








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Dig into the past

In our Own selves....

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Do you know where I am? Do you know where you are? Do you know where we are? The grass isn’t green. The snow isn’t white. The light isn’t bright. The taste isn’t sweet. The atmosphere is strange. The air is misty. The vision is out of range. Your cheeks are thirsty. The sky looks pitch black. The birds don’t seem to fly. There is something the winds lack. Even the hard rocks cry. Is this place, the Mars? No it isn’t. This is something familiar. I had been here before. Losing the skin you possessed. Gaining superficial colors you never need. Exploring the mind you never had. Dreaming about the rainbow you never will have. Do you know where I am? Do you know where you are? Do you know where we are? I am buried alive… You are buried alive… We are buried alive… In our own selves...
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Fly with me...

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We might as well be Strangers....

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I see in your eyes something malignant. Why don't you spit it out? Right on my face, rather than on my ass. Prick my heart, if that's your choice, from the anterior, though! There's something more worse than hatred, I realize it now, quite late. Its your kiss of indifference, you unleash upon me. The eye of a stranger, you stare at me. Have you lost your past? Didn't our days last? where and why have you gone? Am I incompatible with the souls of the universe? Don't ever prove me wrong! I can move without you. I have shoulders to cry. Hands to hold. Friends to hug. But remember one thing, I never said "Goodbye"..... this post is dedicated to my roomie , for having been on my side through hard times, erasing my loneliness of me, though he didn't know whats going inside me!
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Do these count??

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Of the music, the purest, Betwixt the souls, the rarest, The spell of scintillating silence. To hurt, do I've the license? To coagulate,I nipped the bud, To hire peace in the bed. The dead dreams, of my sight, Now I wonder whether its right? When I see you, let me be blind! I don't wish my heart to grind! From the inside of my head, I hear two, of which I am confused which is true? The bleed is now indocile. I am sick of being a missile, that penetrates other's leaf. Do these sins count to my life?
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