Fuel, You Fool.

Fathom existence, finish the maze, fire passion, we must behave. Fuel the ignition, feel the spark, the light in your eyes erases my dark. Like the ribcage I protect my heart, but follow through and the marrow will part. Enter, ease, enlighten me. Hold my breath, I find it hard to breathe. Breathless and speechless, your smile appears.

Existence of us, reviving me, sorrows burned, you let me be. Explore and find dead ends alike, only with help will I make it out alive, I might. We will make it out alive, we will finally feel alive. Fire, passion, behaving thieves, stealing my heart, harmony and melody, your voice like music to my ears.

Love, Hope.

Inside all of us is hope. Inside all of us fear. It sits on our shoulders, it is reflected in our eyes. It is distraught, feelings prevalent of being alone. What is there to be fearful of? There’s a string attached to dreams. It unravels, bit by bit. With each thread loosened, hearts get heavy. But there are no hearts, only stones. Dark pieces of rock composed of ancient, foreign matter, suppressing a being that should be so much more alive. Blocking, resenting, protecting, when it should not be.

Opening, hoping, reaching. Where is hope, in a heart, in a soul? It is torn, crushed and lost. Shattered like glass dropped from fifty feet above. A broken vase, a faded memory, pain unraveling the hopes of dreams once so loud. Heavy heart, heavy rock, holding you down. This is not hope, it cannot be. Fear taking on the face of hope. It burns, like a hot coal in your hand. The anger, the pain, the hurt, ignited by fear. Hope is masked by fear. Fire of love, ignited by hope.

Inside all of us is hope. It must fight past the fear. Like fire and rain, they conflict. Burn or flood, heat or cold, hope or fear, love or loss. Faded, lost, found, loved. After all, what is there to be fearful of?

I am with you, I am in reach. - Love, Hope.

Bliss.

There is a place, a place that is not ours. It is a place we must find, a place that we must form. It is a complacent place we are in. Denatured, morphed, unrecognizable, gone away. It is a game of trail, a test to see who can survive such a place. Pass the test, leave the place and make your own. Leave the place, make your own, recognizable world, ordinary world, stronger world. Place of pure bliss, pure happiness, pure content in yourself and what lies beneath you, beyond you, in front of you. It is there, it is all you.

You can blossom in bliss, or you can be miserable in it.

Before bliss, there is misery. This is why we must be tested. Tested for truth and strength. Mental capacity to contain emotion, contain thoughts. Shuttering, shut off from the world. Cowering against the wall, with shadows and demons of fears and regret standing in front of us.. to each his own. There is an undeniable comfort in releasing the demons of fears upon yourself, but to allow them to soak in your blood that they caused. Resentment mistaken for passion. Or was it passion mistaken for resentment? Learn to survive, and you can leave the place of misery. Misery left a memory, misery left as a memory. Recognize the value of misfits, you are a misfit. A misfit in misery, you were. There is a test. It is called life. And as we must live, we must fight.

We must learn to survive. Only then can we blossom in bliss.

Pass the test, leave the place, make your own. Make it recognizable, beautiful. You’ve made it, and you very well deserve it. You have fought for bliss, you have fought for your bliss. You have fought for your place and have put your place in that place, and it needs you. No longer a vacuum of your own heart, bliss thrives. What has happened to you?

Alive but maybe not in that way. Which way? Alive in soul, body, mind, looking below. Remember bliss. Remember what is ordinary is not necessarily your own. We form our place, we form our home. You form your place, you form your home. Remember bliss. Bliss.. blossom. Bliss, misery.

Good, Gone.

We’re prisoners. Prisoners to routine, to society, to the lack of capable comprehension in our minds. Routine, different setting but same events, same repetition of saying and feelings. Where has the good gone?

In my drawer rests a bottle of liquid used to tame a wild beast. Pin straight, curly Q, waves on a beach, tamed. But other bottles, do they intend to break the beast out into a place where prison no longer exists? To release to the animals the aura of positivity, that is when prison does not exist. That is when it is released, when we as prisoners are released, when the comprehension of the mind reaches all horizon of certainty, with the idea of uncertainty and negativity dismissed into the inner abyss.

The good has gone from lack of creativity and intelligence. Lost through societal trends and mishaps, lost through obsessions of what does not really matter. Promote love, banish what you hate. Rather freedom than submission and darkness. Leave me here, left alone, to meditate on the unknown. To embrace the future, live the present, learn the past, be a prisoner to breaking out of this cell and creating a comprehension-able life to reject repetition and to finally find the good.

Make Believe.

Beautiful woman, so misunderstood. Taken but free, she is not me. Depicted as a woman beyond her own self, huddled in a corner writing to herself. Depicted as a writer far less than her own good, hidden talents are often grossly underscored.

What happened to her?

Stronger than her own mind, her heart has lost far too many fights. Yet appreciation lies at its core, fears and brainwashed manipulation keep her huddled in that corner, body on the floor. They said it was overdose. Murder was the cure. Lies and trust demanded by friends, she gave in letting them believe she was someone else within. Wise but young, taken from her own body, making me wonder, where is me?

Where is she?

Unhappy alone or unhappy with another, positivity can’t creep itself into the picture. Happy with her heart, not with her mind, or is it the other way around? I resign. Back and forth, write and scratch, tearing, crumbling, tossing talent in the trash. Believed lies, trust is lost, believing and trusting are simply dust. I am taken by the wind, my body in midair, trusting no one but myself, there is belief in nothing real.

The Destruction.

I feel like destroying something beautiful.

Beauty masks monsters. Beauty fuels falsity. They sky is beautiful, but the sky is cloudy. Your face is beautiful, but it is lifeless. Beauty is torture. Monsters thrive off of torturing you, they thrive off of your fear. Wandering, sucking color from the world, ice cold, Antarctica, miles and miles away.

Taken advantage of. Beauty is, I mean. Murdered, covered as suicide, but why would you ever want to destroy something beautiful? Higher powers, controlled anarchy. And no matter what, you can’t escape.

Beauty is everywhere, lying to you. Things aren’t beautiful, so destroy it all. What we deem as having beauty is merely a reflection of how we perceive ourselves to be. Do you think you’re beautiful? No? What about your soul, is that beautiful, or are you dark like me?

You’re tortured within only because of the constant battle with beauty. Your eyes, hungry for relentless destruction.

I feel like destroying something beautiful; therefore, everything will be destroyed.

Creative Manipulation.

Creativity is deep, yet is destroyed by man. Taken advantage of, simply because of anatomy within. Hierarchy of manipulation, ideas of demise, putting it down because you're sick of your lies. You believe you’re creative, that you’re over me, and by putting down my dreams, you’re helping me.

It’s not about comfort, but insecurity. I can know who I am, but you’re still authority. And it’s only because of what society has raised you to be, because of the prevalence of male patriarchy. My emotions and creativity are all of my own; you think you ignite them but you don’t even know. I came from you, but am not the same; I’m motivated to make something of my name.

Glasses.

Get me out of here, give me a sign. I won’t make it out alive. Darkness, darkness, follows me. Nothing but sleep encompasses me. Sleep and tears, darkness adheres. I don’t believe I’ll make it out alive. Darkness, darkness, follows me. Give me glasses so I can see. Wish they distorted the world enough so I could at least pretend someone wanted me.

Unusual Rant.

Why are we so compelled to be under the control of technology? It’s nuts, bolts, screws, chips. Little pieces combined together, ruling us. Laptops, phones? Why do they have to rule us.

And money. It’s just green paper, just paper. It can tear, be shredded, fragile but we live around it. It motivates in the worst ways. Death occurs because of it. Money hungry people rule. It defines statuses, although we’re all on the same boat, called life, where no one can get out alive.

Why live this way? When did society lose sight of the really important things? Those things that don’t constantly change, ruin relationships and reputations, compete. When did we become the people that choose to text instead of talking in person, or the ones that feel so dependent on their technology that they can’t even hold a face to face conversation because Marimba is ringing in the background or a horn tone is letting you know someone took the time to type you something, completely irrelevant.

When did we lose sight of building strong relationships with people instead of building strong relationships with a crappy piece of plastic and glass and a flimsy piece of green construction paper with numbers printed on the corners, things that can get lost and break oh so easily.

Because people strive for convenience over interpersonal relations.

Have a day of self, of others, without an inanimate object delegating who you are and what you’re doing. Change it, or it’ll change you.

Fallback.

The thought of a memory, once held so secure. In my hand, it was once a cure. Years ago it abandoned me, letting my body finally feel free. But freedom is cold, so dark and unknown, the thought of freedom.. scares me. Freedom, limitless, it petrifies me.

Angel Wings.

Held by an angel, demented wings, but bright in spirit, yet full of tears. They shelter from the corrupt dark word, more terrorism than it should ever behold.

Comforting, closing me in, my angel holds my innocence.

I may have wings, but they aren’t all white, black scattered, I’ve grown to fight.

My body, my soul, I deserve to grow old, not to be taken from here. Whether in an empty shell or completely here, my angel still holds me, she knows my fear.

It’s dark but it’s light, lightness so bright, prevailing over the storm. Finding the past, recovering that me. Relentless, it despises me. Uncovering facts, assumptions, truths, that me is gone, my angel is proof.

Judgmental of wings, but who cares if they’re veiled? Not all angels are perfect; they can be dark from the start. Doesn’t mean they are cruel or harmful or lost, it means they know hurt, and that is what’s dark.

The Lullaby.

Sleepy, sleepy, close your eyes. I’ll come get you, your demise. Bargain, watch me come take you, you’ll never find a way-- break through.

Soft, sweet lullaby, be so cruel. I’m no angel; you’re a fool.

Sheep jump, counting, sun rising. Poor little hoof prints, my coffin.
You deteriorate at my will, just like a sheep stripped of its wool.

Let me be Alice in Wonderland. I’d like to play a game of pretend. Think I see you, rabbit hole. Stuck in a teapot, grow so small. Naked, sheep wool keeps me warm, flamingo feathers on the floor.

I know you’ll take me away from here, yet I still fear, counting sheep won’t disappear.

Sing me a lullaby, comfort my soul. Sing me a lullaby, my eyes are growing cold.

The Leeches.

A leech is attached, sucking and hosting, making a meal out of me. Sucking and yearning for that blood that is turning a good soul into a thief.

A thief of desire, a thief of fire, of the burning heart inside me.

Leeches living, hosting and breeding, have made a shell out of me.

Deceived World.

Searching in a place for answers, the cruel world’s intentions falling underneath your feet. Altering, refusing, denying your very being. I don’t belong, you don’t belong, none belong, outsiders of your own skin.

Losing a game of win-win, winning a game of losses. A chess piece on a checker board, a thimble in the game of Life. Out of place.

Broken mirror, cursed and hopeless. Stepping on glass, cutting my feet, bruising and bleeding, world forsaken my being.

What have you become?
What have you become..

Mundus vult decipi, ergo decipiatur.

Just don’t deceive me with you.

The Lost.

What’s right is together, but together isn’t right.

Judgement and suicide.
Flight or fight.

Work on me, work on you, but we always end up making two. Not one, not three, not seven or nine, I know I wish I could just make you mine.

Loss of power, loss of soul, damn this heart feels so cold. Because what’s right is together, but fear steps in, making everything good, lost again.

Lost soul, you feel so old.

Leaves and Trees.

What’s for you, what’s for me? A leaf fallen from a tree. A different root, a different shade, but belonging to you, a different breed. Doing for you, but you can’t see, the hurt trying has put on me.

Shadow Bridge.

Bridges burning, not for yearning, the past should stay in its place. Shadows dance on the trees, growing a fear inside the hollow bark. Shadows of taunting torment, unfamiliar yet too familiar. The feelings of fire, burning what I stand on, burn me.

What saves beyond truth, when truth can’t save itself?
Truth won’t suffice, for there is no truth unseen.

The moon is out, let it die, that eye won’t see what you do to me. Let it die, let the stars be the only light in the sky. Wishing, hoping, finding another you, someone who does what you could never do.

Shadows dance, between the trees, across the wind, beyond the seas.
Finding me.

The Caves.

Stranded, a hole, dark surroundings. It’s a reclusive sanctuary, full of deep thought and demons, yet glimmers of hope of being found. Glittering glimmers degrade upon no arrival. Come and go, left and alone in seclusion yet again.

A cave in the mountain is my home. Secrets. Sneaks. All of a sudden, hidden, stuck, suicide of the soul, suicide of the mind. A craveless, lifeless shell in the deepest, darkest caves.

Hidden, but here.
Sad, but strong.
Present, but gone.

Darkeness in the cave. It torments. It pulls, begs, attaches, the kiss of death. Shallow waters; in it, darkness lives. Creatures full of manipulation and stealth. It knows. They know. Every secret, every thought. Sucking the life out of every cell in my body.

Too strong for words, they’re easier to commit to than to rebel against. Easier to please than to disobey. The darkness. It secludes me. Overtakes me.

I follow.

Rain outside the cave proves there is feeling in the world. Mist hits my face, making me wonder where the line between fabrication and truth lie. I’m here alone, but even nature knows emotion. Sometimes, better than I.

I know darkness, and it knows me.
But darkness, it knows me best.

The Diamond.

Diamonds are rough, but so is your soul. Put you under pressure, watch your life unfold. I’m the miner, you’re the prize; a worthless, cracked piece of jewel.

I know you’re expensive, but there’s nothing special about flash. Wealth and greed encompass your soul, a hidden black hole. A pile of unfathomable dust, you can’t be polished, looking like trash. No matter how hard we tried, we couldn’t match. I’m a princess, you, marquise; shapes so different, yet clearly unseen.

Absence of color, yet your beauty fails, color is color—mine prevails.

I cut you, my diamond, into a valueless piece of ruthless stone. I am the cutter, you are the pressured jewel. Manipulating you, didn’t you know? I determine your quality, I determine your craft. You’re in my hands, and you didn’t last.

Full of blemishes, broken, unused. Can’t be covered, clarity will never be yours. Magnify yourself, and you’ll see.

You’ll never be anything without me.

I am your miner, I am your cutter, I am you, but you aren’t me.

Rain's Light.

The light masked by pellets of rain, yet it shines right through. Glistening, pouring, the vibrancy of power and collision. Wind flustering, shaking leaves, like the shaken emotions inside me. The sky grows dark, rain prevails. Slower, harder, a demonic grace.

The beat of a heart, echoing rain in a chimney. There, barely noticeable, but still. A constant drum. Peaceful to some, but not to me. Rain falls harder, feelings get stronger, peace can’t find me.

Like the sun through rain, it’s there but masked. Shit happens, but shouldn’t last. The rain will subside, yet emotions dwell, masked still by the feeling of hell.

The Thunder.

There’s the sound of thunder, but it’s in your eyes. Close them and you’ll hear it. Stuck in your head and inside your soul, it rumbles, like rocks on metal. So loud, deceiving, reflective of your fears. But fear doesn’t rest in thunder; it rests in all those tears. Lightning strikes through the rain, pouring, like blankets in the sky. It strikes your heart; you’re left to die. In the pouring rain and thunder.

The Song.

Cut me, drug me, poison me with the love of lyrics, finding me in a shadow of undeniable depth only you can see. Tunneled and struggling, but pursuing a hope of fight, flight, and strength.

The valley is narrow, but the light is bright. It’s far away, but keep walking and it will come to me. Harmony and passion for the music you love give hope to keep my head above. You are who holds my breath.

Sing to me because I’m there. Sing through me because you care.

The weight of the world has nothing to do with this; you find a way. Bringing me back with that voice of melody, harmony, sing for me.

Stolen Heart.

Peaceful river, calming seas. The envy of strength, the envy of freedom, the envy of pure happiness. Caging myself, I know I must go. Unlock the door that’s been bolted for so long, open up my heart again. Show me what’s true, what’s right, what’s imaginable.

To be at peace. To genuinely smile. To be happy.

Prickles underneath skin, like rats scurrying through disposes, that cover my body, be gone. Let go of me. I’m no longer your prisoner, or shouldn’t be. I am stronger than you, I am bigger than you, I can overcome you. You are darkness. I am light, I have the light, just masked. Scurry back to your shadow, scurry back to your grounds, leave my heart alone. Give it back to me.

I lost it long ago, in the elevated mountains. The wide range, the beauty of snow, us standing above nine clouds. Lost in the sky, embraced by its beauty, you stole me and then brought me back down. Inspired by the beauty, yet I cannot climb back myself. I need you here with me. No, I don’t.

Give me my heart back. Leave it as it once was.

Destroyed, broken, confused. Crushed, lost, bleeding.

Throw me in a river, toss me in the sea. An ocean, a lake, the water can see me. Seep through my veins, detoxify my love, creating peace. Calm. Calm, my child. The day will come and you will know silence.

The Birds.

Birds of a feather flock together, but what if there’s only one? Stuck in the wind, too much or too little, despair, yet hope, belittle. The bird flies alone, alone in his gusts. The freedom of air, the sky, and sunshine, remain barred behind panels of glass and metal, trapping me inside. Melting, floating, the sorrow of tomorrow.

Floating then, flying free, the birds move on, migrate without me. A broken wing distresses the heart, knowing the aspiration of flying has to start. Or part.

But what if it happens to me?

Wing fixed, heart remains. Distressed, lifelessness.

Not good enough to fly, but are you?

Fly with me, save me from myself. The heart of the bird is rough, bearing buildings. Walls and halls, ceilings and attics. Cemeteries, ashes, he dies.

Stuck in a shade of silver, flying alone in thought, no freedom. Not okay, but fine to sight. First to bear the relentless winds of the Northern sky, the heat of the Southern. The cold of the future, or the warmth of death.

Floating alone, finding a way. Outside looking in, wanting escape. Never going to make it home.

Circles and dots, spirals and knots. Taunting, pressure, breaking me.

Breaking and broken, breaking free. Whispers fight, raging reassuringly, saying pain, pain, pain. Veins bulging, releasing red love. Love of hatred, love of what’s right. You don’t know what’s right. Frustrated, failing, falling again. Broken.

Trying to fly, but they migrate without me.

The Box.

Finding a place of undeniable, so desirable, intrigue. Lost in a moment of accidental accompany, the company of a territory felt and understood by so few. A company of discrimination, even when it doesn’t deserve it.

Shaking. A relentless twitch. Intricacy.

Desired because of it’s complexity. That uncharted territory. A territory of brokenness, yet positivity, all in the shadow of self-doubt and misunderstandings.

What do you want?

What feels right?

It runs through the mind. What is expected has nothing to do with want. It isn’t lust, entirely. Neither entirely of the mind, body, heart, or self, yet a combination of all. It’s something that’s eager to reveal itself. Something so creative, so intriguing, inspiring.

What are you inspired by?

Think outside of the box. It’s hard, I know. When you’re so leveled in routine and comfort, it seems impossible. Don’t go for a flower in a tree, go for a tornado. Get inspired by something, anything.

Listen to something new, not that same old station.
One inspiration can reveal so much.

Those who are limitless find the most in their lives, fulfilling aspirations, taking risks. No being comfortable. No settling. Doing them, only them, realizing what’s most important. It’s a decision of self.

Are you going to be comfortable, or are you going to explore?

Explore those uncharted territories.
The inspirations.
Intricate people, intricate places.
Beyond the box.

It can reveal so much, unexpectedly.

Acceptance in Introspection.

What kind of relationship do you have with yourself? What kind of person are you? Or do you even know who you are? Think, how often do you judge others; is it a really criticism of the other person, or a criticism of yourself?

Introspect. Find out, what makes you, you?

Don’t be afraid to dig deep into yourself. Don’t be afraid to come face to face with shadows of your life, empty roads. It isn’t about loving yourself, but gradually coming to an acceptance with yourself. Figure out where those buried emotions-- the hatred, the sadness, the anger-- all come from. Come to an understanding with them, but don’t feel forced to come to an acceptance with those emotions quite yet. Just come to an understanding, so you know from where they sprout. Live with them. Understand what you feel, understand what the cause of those emotions are. Understanding those emotions will have an impact on the understand of yourself.

“Too many tears, too many falls
It’s easy to hear behind these walls
But you don’t have to walk in the shadows...

“If only you’d let go of your fears
You’re breaking your own heart
Taking your own heart down the lonely road”

Those dark ages, all those negative emotions, they have a place. It doesn’t mean they should forbid you from having a relationship with yourself; the dark places have a home, but a home of hopeful understanding and eventual acceptance. Not one of a defiance of positivity and a shameful, demeaning manner. Yet the positives have a home too. They can sometimes be buried just as deep as the negative ones.

See where your happiness, love, and acceptance have a home.
Embrace them.

Take care of you before anyone else. Don’t break your own heart because of a failed relationship with who you are. If you strive to make everyone else feel accepted and appreciated before you make yourself feel accepted and appreciated, happiness in your own can be hard to find.

Be harsh, because you can handle it.
Constructively criticize, because you can learn from it.
Don’t pity, because you aren’t weak.
Realize mistakes, because you will be able to understand.
Feel hatred, because from it will sprout acceptance and love.

Understand yourself and take care of you before anyone else. Find who you are through examining your thoughts, emotions, and behaviors. All the answers are there, save yourself from heartache because of an inability to understand where you come from. Introspection, self-analyzing, meditation, they’re all in one; you.