I'd give my heart to subtle contentment.

How long can I lie aslant consumed by the chasm of emptiness?

Dear, not-so-content-lover-of-mine, will you accept me for my skewed up cynicism, and my need to be victimised? 

I need a distraction, as the very thoughts are consuming my head day in and day out.

Perhaps, the concept of forever is a myth, and I sit here, laughing out loud at my spirited naivety. Like the old aunty would say, "How innocent!".

"How true!"

And I can sift back and forth of real and unreal, of thoughts in my head and the real world sarcasm.

What a joke have you made of yourself?

Perfection is a disembodied feeling, you fool.

Laugh out loud, as perhaps, that's the only way your heartaches will be neglected.

The need for venting out has been quenched.

Suspiro ergo sum.