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Malevolent HoneyA look (more like a glance) that was all that was requited.
and that was all...
Heart pounding behind bone like flesh being shot at point-blank range as if such a thing had a consciousness; a murderous temperament that I am so blissfully unaware of (a rapturous naivety that holds some hollow-chested Demon behind an unlovely face that I so despise with every fibre of my being throwing a red-eyed fist at the flawlessly reflective-surface that gives me such a perfect view of it. The blood like rich wine trailing down my ravaged palm and onto the icy tile floor as if it were some crime scene from a horror film I never saw the end of running out of comfortably crowded room towards the empty blackness, completely alone, as if it would bring some sort of protection. I couldn't be more wrong... And it is times like these, I wish I could just disappear. Just lose myself and be labeled missing, be it temporary or forevermore, I w
Tripping SkyscrapersI've been pondering over things. Things that make me question my own sanity (as if I never have before). Things that people (no matter how immoral they themselves may be) would willingly (will among those that I question) shun me for (out of sight and out of mind). Things that are so 'out-of-the-box' that it is like there was never any at all.
As I wake from my melancholy slumber (unable to remember any dream I ever possessed), I take a single moment (though it would seem of no account) to respire in the untroubled sunrise before remembering my place with a sigh and compose myself for a day of headache-inducing babble, delusions of certain knowledge and heart-rending attempts to forget my non-existent love life (as if such a thing meant more than nil) only to ponder some more. *sigh* What a bore What a lovingly incomparable bore
Oh how I love the night (though I hate how the stars stare at me so the feelings so obviously mutual). You can't see anything in the w
The Untitled'Modern' days.
Nothing but a world of mindless babble from the mouths of (mostly) educated people about the same ol' prejudice subjects, constantly repeated through a thousand different eyes.
A pitiful world of brainwashed thought and deep-fried opinion that disgusts me in such a way that if even a single fibre was out of place, I would no longer be sure nor content with my predicament. As if I too am lost without the guidance of the overly-worshiped Gods of pointless desire and self-inflicted humility.
It's sickening, yet somehow comforting.
These words I use so often, yet utterly despise as they leave such an unholy sweetness in my mouth, like a revenge before it rebounds back onto ones self 10-fold.
Yes. Such nicotine hatred.
As easy to sin and not feel any form of repentance as it is to cough out the smoke of a cigarette. It is such a shame.
A desert in the fabrics of time and what we call space, as it flows, twists and
The extreme e-motion theoryHappiness.
Everyone (who everything more like) feels.
That may be all that is certain on this and perhaps any other Earth (I recite this from a textbook).
Our minds, just one fully-operational, miniaturised rollercoaster that's been excruciatingly crammed into one over-sized skull, without any extra breathing space.
Like a perceptively exotic creature in a 1950s public zoo. Our keeper (though you may not want to hear it), is just a beyond-the-mirrors gaze away.
A not-so-fragile line between a machine and a feeling. Either way, it's almost impossible to make an even vaguely humanoid sentence, even on the best of days.
Something that is truly one of the many unnamed wonders of this world (at least). Greater even than the Hanging Gardens of Babylon, or the Temple of Artemis at Ephesus (it brings them all to shame).
And somehow we, being the inferior beings that we honestly are, have actually accomplished such a task.
That small, seemingly insig
On the LineIt's funny how much one can change within an instant.
When it's just one of those times when the tollbooth on the bridge between one emotion and the next has closed down from some unforeseen event (or so they say).
And it's never easy for anyone, not even myself, who you may have guessed, is having one of those times as I write these words that I so wish I wasn't too cowardly to voice (no matter how quiet that voice may be).
Just a moment ago, I could've been so enthusiastic (to put it lightly) that people would give me strange looks and whisper things when I'm nothing but a mere stranger. Another, I may have been so run-down and zoned-out, but not near tired or exactly depressed, that no one would not want to even see me (the feeling being completely mutual or so I let myself believe).
Either way, no one wants to even know me (even when they already do).
It's like I'm a sane person who's being falsely placed in a high security asylum for something to true to be real (or too
Ode to the PsychopathIn the poor, bleeding darkness, a battle is fought,
A war beyond blades and merciful gunshots,
And I stare at the ceiling, wide-eyed and tearless,
As the nightingales' silent with mourning.
And as the sand in the hourglass falls so slowly,
Years of resentment feel like whole lifetimes.
As I stare at the nothingness, sleepless and wounded,
As the nightingales' silent with mourning.
As the sun slowly rises on this barren land,
The roars of ill feeling are still yet to cease,
And I rise from my peace, desperate and empty,
As the nightingales' silent with mourning.
And as if a dark, rusty blade has carved out my heart,
Waterfalls run from my cold-blooded eyes,
And I fall to my knees with the sound of resentment,
As the nightingale dies along with me.
My FallacyWhat is the rain? Is it really just the piece of a cloud, icy-cold and scattered in some falling motion (never loyal enough to stay in a single place)? Is that really all it is? All there is? Is it really pointless to stand beneath it (a pitiful attempt to wash away my many unnamed sins), doing nothing but catch a nasty cold (as if I hadn't had enough of that heavy feeling on my chest, making it harder to breathe with every passing second)? I ask myself this every day, as (somewhat) fresh-water tears fall on a cloudless summer day and I dance and twirl without any form of shelter for miles (an almost-feeling I so foolishly treasure, as if it were more than just a daydream), a rare moment of complete freedom that I spend years trying to completely grasp, but am never able (it slips out of my grasp every time, sinking it's fangs into my hand with it's serpent-like venom trying it blue with seconds). Never worthy enough to feel any pain, though it burns like a frozen sun, shining upon an
Construction ZoneThis society is a mess.
A dull, unpredictable, clay-like, photographic mess.
Like a cake made with too much flour, or coffee made with milk that has long expired.
A bitter, tasteless, sickly-sweet, gluttonous mess.
Like a war that reminds you more of a juvenile fight during the school lunch break than a demonstration of bravery.
A pathetic fight over who-owns-what or saw-it-first that I am saddened (yet strangely proud) to say my ancestors fought for.
A perfect, skeleton-thin mess, where there are bit more than one-too-many cooks (bad cooks, I might add) in a kitchen as small as the open-mind of a fashion magazine that can make a beauty willingly become an extremely realistic horror-prop.
A tearful subject that I so terribly fear, yet have considered on many more occasions than one (much to my distaste).
This life is a mess.
A bloody, dark-humoured, valentine-chocolate mess, that makes me gag at it's very sight on cliché scenes and lines so corny I could serve it as a side-dish.
Heartfelt HomicideClouds of an almost-white-grey, barely a speck of blue to be seen for miles.
Not a single flower seeping from alcohol-stained concrete, and no wind blows in such an unholy city.
Roadwork bells ring instead of those of the church, as no sane mind would ever dare roam here,
As no wind blows, perhaps being wiser than I,
As these are the walls I once called my home.
Back when inner children played hopscotch on the streets, and people greeted strangers as if they were the oldest of friends,
And with a sigh the rain sang like the gold-hearted choirs of white roses draped on a gravestone,
But those paintings like visions are now only found in the fairytales we call history books.
From the half-burnt-down libraries, splashed with dry, guilty blood, they reminisce of those better days.
With clouds of an almost-white-grey, barely a speck of blue to be seen through such vengeful brick walls,
And not a single flower seeping from the alcohol-stained street,
In the blood-splashed library of such an
I regret making a selfish wish
I regret not being able to protect more people and despairing before I could end it all
I regret not being of use to you
I regret not staying in the shadows like I was supposed to, and at the same time, I regret having never felt mutual love
But most of all, I regret causing you all to suffer so much more than you would of I wasn’t there to begin with
And for that, I am so sorry
And I’m not asking you forgive or even remember me because I know that would be far too much to ask
So, all I ask is for you to be happy and to at least be with less regrets than I had when your time comes
Because, I now realise that, in death
None of it really matters and the outcome is still the same
And the pain of what you regret lingers on long after your body has been left behind
So I beg of you, is to live so that you have as little regret as possible
So when the time comes for use to meet again, we can both greet each other with a smile"</p>
Ok, so I got really quite lazy with this, but finally I got this up
You went too soon
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