There used to be a man within you that I’m inlove with. I see parts of him reflect out of you, but its little bits of pieces that even if put together, doesn’t make a whole. In your ashes I search for the soul that calls for me, but there are only remainders of what was. You’ve combusted within your body to protect yourself, to feel and want nothing. Yet, you’ve only chained and barbed you, and silently it bleeds to feel to become whole. Yet sadly, you’re so blinded by fear, fear to trust, fear to let someone in, fear to let yourself truly be. And still, to me you’re perfectly broken in dark shades of me.
Life being a constant existence, a purity of thought, a weakness of the soul. A hallucination of oneself. Fiddling with reality. Creating masterpieces of dreams drowning in Ego, reflecting narcissism.
Life with all its beauty and damage chips at our innocence. Molds us into statuses and for everything a collection of stamps are taken out.
Life haven already been liven, has its own set of rules that forces you to abide by. Anything less, you’re faced with consequences to burden you down. Out casting you to lie in your cold grave questioning all you know.
Life, a never ending solitude, drives you to the idea of loneliness. Yet we all are connected by strings of being. A cycle of similar things repeating in co-relation. How you live it is all up to you. Yet the same none the less.
Life is made of our energy.
You dwell within my spirituality as you glisten with your Bosphorus.You leave me speechless with your unspoken beauty.
As you give off tons of hope you rip out joy with the your contaminated air I inhale. You provide an abyss of imagination with your mesmerizing lay out.
Your wind combined with your features is reviving. I can understand how you’re a dream; you resemble all that is sinful dressed with naive attractiveness. Your streets are marred with memories, that you probably console yourself with.
You’re the root of all disappointments. You’re so imperfectly balanced that makes insanity appear as nothing
and yet your destructibility is breath taking.
I have visions of visitng your grave and saying all that I have held inside to a cold stone…for the stone would understand a lot more than you do now. But as I envision and play with the thought, my heart aches and my soul shivers. Laying you in wet soil, wet because it must rain on the day you leave, for the angels must cry for such love that could never warm hearts eternally. The idea burdens me with all that never was spoken, closures we never got, scars that were never healed. I realize now that when that day comes I will lose a part of my sanity. What would I do with all that you gave me, all that you taught me, and to never explain my reasons, to reconcile with you to mend one another. To prove to you that all along when u seeked for unconditional love, you already and always had it? And maybe I do have it from you, but you package it so thick that the feeling is lost in the message. You are not the only one to blame. There was a time that I was the devil itself, but a teenager does that when dreams are shattered. I have put my demons to rest long ago, but my scars bleed everytime you scratch. When will you put your demons to rest, before its too late for us to truly love one another?
All these love songs these chick flicks, if not real then why sell it? To create minds who will never be satisfied with what is? Love songs that pull at your heart strings, scenes of movies that take your breath away. Wanting to hold on to the feeling, imagining scenes to make up for the lack of romance. Commercializing love as it is not, filling our minds with things that most can not give us. Maybe chick flicks is just an extended version of walt disney. And the songs are what makes all those scenes hit home.
Are people really not trying to give a little or do we hope for more for no good reason? Most deny another’s reality of love and appreciation, is it because there are alterating realities of perception or is it wisdom of defeat and harsh reality? How wrong could trying be.. to put another above onself to let go of who you are to create another, to be considerate and share a created world, rather than vacationing at someone’s world. To lose all baggages and be free of it all.
Or maybe I am the only one who can’t see true colors
What is the point in being strong if you dont have the courage to see beyond your own haze?
There is a world within me, a better world, which taunts me. It is far from my reach, yet vivid in despair. It exists in layers of my imagination. And in between lays a better me. A me that reeks courage. Who flourishes in the flow of her life. Below these interwined bubbles and mists is the core of them all, Reality. It suffocates me and tires me, strips me of will, leaves me breathless. With all its ups and downs, it feeds me confusion. A drug so strong that causes addiction upon addiction which wraps itself around you binding you in chains. And so I lay down, thinking, dreaming of a better world of a better me, for reality has orphaned me of all will and courage, with the dosage of confusion. I no longer can move a finger so I let myself fly to and fro between my layers of bubbles.
We’re in parts of books. In sentences, in a word even. A million songs to sum up memories, moments we possessed. We’re engraved in bed posts, tables, rocks. Every memory is like an eternity shared disillusioning life. Moments that are linked to one another creating different chains of Time stolen from life. Time that is stuck on repeat in ones mind with no black hole to suck it gone. When lost in it you find yourself in wonderland, each turn teaching you something new every time. Each pain and joy vividly visible, the final ache an intoxicating ecstasy. Ignoring your subconscious to wake up to dreams of your love. Despite all the irrationalism of reality, you are the story I want to re-write and read every day and night. A song I want to sing as I lay myself to sleep and let my soul soar through the clouds as I drink you in.
There is a place where we believe is a better place for us. Yet we fail to see that it is us that can better the place we are in. No zip code or continent will be the answers to our prayers. For who we are is constant, so the choices we will make will be the same no matter where we are, hence the problems we will face, the ups and downs, will be the same only the setting will be different. The places we wish to escape or dream of will only add onto our luggage of experiences, maybe help us view some things differently or change our prespectives. But it won’t save you or me.
So many times, we blame where we are and the people we know for the useless drama or headaches. Ironically, we don’t notice that it is us who choose all that is in our lives.
Instead of dreaming of a better place, build new sand castles in your world.
There is no such thing as failing
failure is a seeded idea, it is merely a state of mind
There is only life, circumstances and consequences
and there is always something to gain and learn from each process
but no such thing as failure
we only actually move forward
but our brian is so programmed to ‘failure’ that we dont let ourselves mentally move
hence we get stuck on a single patch work re-sewing and sewing again until it makes no sense
when we should know that the patch is complete look at what we have gained and learned and move onto the next patch