woke up with a weird feeling
the feeling of feeling like crying
but having no tears to share
there was nothing but spasmic fights for air
every song ive heard lately makes me wish i was 8 again
i think my soul died a long time ago
im spending the night here
on an empty room with nothing but a mattress
one pillow and a white blanket
i wish i could live like this forever
every time i peek out a window that leads to the sky
ever since i was 17
the only thing i see is bombs falling down
when i blink someone gets killed
every time i rub my eyes someone gets torture
but if i was sleeping they would have died the same
morning is not completely here yet
i wish this night could last a bit longer
stretch its minutes until they reach eternity
then run until the ocean
and spend an hour contemplating the sky
because i would have the time

when does the good and calming last cigarrette of a night turns until the too early bad cigarrette of a day?
is it at 6.00 am?

Looming sense of doom overcoming me,
Lying naked in an empty bathtub
They are bounding my life
In every way they can
I don't even remember what living felt like,
I've had more conversations with reality when I was 17
I can't let this happen anymore
To do so is in effect to commit consensual suicide
The place I'm at in my life is plagued with solitude,
But that is as much my surroundings' fault, as it is mine
Solitude is an active choice to separate oneself from others
Just because I walk alone does not mean I cannot find solace
I found a way to escape this deceitful world
To shut this ever present voice that tells me
'nothing will ever be what you want or need'
An escape that makes me wake up at 4 o'clock in the morning,
From now on I'll write my alienation away,
Long into the night and with far way thoughts and dreams,
So that they might keep me awake longer through life
And pull me where I wish to go.
Even when I usually find meself without an audience,
I'll turn to the pages of an empty book
So that I might see what I have to fill with my own hand.
Writing is the only cure I know that seems to envelop every issue.
And that has never failed me at all.
I know my purpose of existence now
Because everytime I turn my life into literature
I give my soul resting.

There's nothing left to do but wait,

To live the now longing for a day ahead.

But we shouldn't organize life around pivotal moments.

Life, should bear the connotation of a flow.

Life is a connected history,

Not blips of action arranged in a linear fashion.

Then again, I do nothing but wait.

I'm the one thats always blotting out the middle parts,

Rushing to the end of those days so that I can...

wait

Is that my curse?

Laze through rushing?

Am I really too detached to stop?

It seems like I skip by things that past people's couldnt have.

But maybe it's not my haste,

Maybe,

(though i dont even pretend like these are original thoughts)

We've all become detached from our physical plane.

Not entirely, of course.

But it does make sense, doesn't it?

This does resonate, right?

Or maybe it's just my camp that sleeps with headphones and looks outside through screens.

But I doubt it.

That seems like a cop-out.

Well anyway,

This is just mind vomit,

The great symptom of solitude,

Or perhaps a side-affect,

Who knows.

All i know is that i still refuse,

I refuse to allow myself to become absorbed into the world currently around me.

I will get out.

I will stand out.

But the higher you climb,

The quicker you find a change in temperature and air pressure,

and your ears start to pop.

The only cure for solitude is a leader, a follower, a companion

as god himself spoke to us through the highly religious traditions of cliches.

All we need is one, a whole and real person to show the photographs of your world,

And spend the time it takes to explain them.

Then we can all start our expedition into the farthest reaches of our potential,

and it will now be our mind erupting.

'it's the only way we can all get better, don't you think dear?'

I was already tied,

Up, not down,

With many fulfilled needs serving as my bonds,

And the bonds themselves serving as sources for happiness.

But they have cut my ropes,

Now I'm falling from far above.

Ahh.
Once again,
We are called to step into a crafted experience,
With a disgusting amount of pink scenery and cliche quotes,
All enclosed in a heart and/or stuffed animals.
'Time to play like you're in love!', they say
They assure us they know just what to get our 'others',
And for the most part they do.
Because they made him/her right after they were done with you.

Poor St. Valentine,
He thought he'd be remembered
As a lover of God
But that crafty Chaucer
Gave him a make-over
Head to toe,
Now he's nothing but a patron saint
Of cheap lust,
Demanding: M'aimer! M'aimer!
Hiding behind a mask of hearts and....
Price tags .

meaningless tautology
hands shaking like wind
memories fall off like leaves
you're departing
i aint above hell
that ain't far
looking through and between dreams
i cant run from myself during day
at night the shadows have face
my pencil bleeds
i count how many times ive been here
where everyone speaks in different tongues
where you come and go like turning pages

What is a relationship when you can no longer relate?

Without -relation- relationship morphs into -ship-

And as we all know, ships sink..

.

I was like you,
you were like me,
and we were like gods.

and in that moment we were infinite

I keep raising the glass of wine to my lips,
And it's making me dizzy.
Dizzy, dizzy...

Alors, I explode myself into analysis.
In this state, always a delicious torture.
I have to invent my life as I go along, you see.
I have to question my mind before is gone.

Sometimes I live by staggeringly impulse,
sometimes following palpitating emotions.
Sometimes rationality takes control.
I'm never constant in any road.

I cry, laugh, think, hate and love,
I do it all at the same time.
I live oblivious of people,
Time, place and others.
And that might be,
Perhaps,
Not the most prodigious life.
Yes, I'm aware.
Although,
I'd lie if I say I care.
Cuz, even tough is hard to explain this utter madness inside,
I understand and bless my nonsense.
As well as, my loneliness.

And this is me,
a person who have always loved the abstract,
the living chaos, the hermit world..
A girl who'll never accept to be anything you were before.

I might be wrong,
and most likely I am.
But everyone should live as they desire,
everyone should choose as they pleased.
So I decided to always do it wholly.
Never bloodless, never packed.
No days without thinking,
no moments without love.
Always maximizing the pleasures,
Forever minimizing the dull.

And this is it,
I have no real conclusions about life.
After all, if you think about it,
it's impossible; there are none.

Can we be free?

Condemned to be free, is what we are.
Don't you forget it.
We don't get to cop out of responsibility,
slip past its icy clutches.
Ever.
That's the scary part of life, I think.
Not the death,
Not the meaninglessness,
But that a weight,
meant only for a God's shoulders,
Rests on every single one of our consciousnesses.

One day there will be nothing to do

nothing to laugh of

nothing to cry for

nothing to think

one day there will be nothing to love

nothing to live for

nothing to long for

nothing to kiss

one day there will be nothing to feel

nothing to hold on to

nothing to hate

nothing to fear

One day there will be nothing around

nothing to hide from

no one to see you

no one to be with

one day there will be nothing...