Beatdown.

Barns burning, bullies and beatdowns, the things you have done to me. Scars tell a story but you are not there, fresh wounds don’t appear, in my mind they just tear. Crazy, forgotten, the thoughts I can’t bear. I left you, you left me, nude with no care.

Lonesome Hearts.

Screw the ones with the lonesome hearts because manipulation is at its finest during dark. We talk and we pray, converse and persuade, but the darkness reclaims the light.

She lives in a place where the darkness can’t reach, so far in a fairytale even I cannot beat. A fairytale somewhere too far for us to find, she closes her eyes, sees a dark paradise. Lonesome, so lonely, heart left so sad, a wonderland mistaken for a crude old man.

“The King, he reigns,” all the followers say, “The King, he is grand, we have to obey.”

Thought to be kindness, the King holds his own. Vivacious? No, his heart left oh so alone. Just as the lady is stuck in her land, the King holds his crown, sinking into quicksand.

Lonesome hearts are misleading, they really want love, but go to find it in ways that ache and disrupt. Hate to the fate that misleads you this way, but it is your darkness, not mine, that leaves bitter tastes.

So screw the ones with lonesome hearts, because manipulation is its finest at dark. Manipulate minds, manipulate me, my dear, my dear, oh how I shall flee. Create a place, a grand fairytale, with kings and queens and mad hatters, I will. To drink tea all day, mistake madness for wits, shrink and grow tall, play croquet with misfits. Battles and lovers, viridity unclaimed, I create fairytales of beliefs, not manipulation games.

Leave lonesome hearts alone in the dark because darling, they are not my thing. So we’ll sit and we’ll pout, let’s cry tears and self doubt, all for your little childish craves.

Chalk Outline.

Jane Doe number one, Jane Doe number two. Anonymous was all she wanted to be. Dead to the world, lost through love, cold and blue, lack of blood running through. Craving the need to be unknown, dying in her mind to not end up like you; you’re just like me.

Worlds collide in her mind, but no face can be placed on who was left in the chalk outline. Keep returning to the scene of the crime, the battles of the two fight, they lie. Crossed and beaten, cursed and cut, shattered and forgotten, they cannot rhyme. Two as one, or maybe one as two, a constant battle waiting for reign over Jane Doe’s mind. Concept of anonymity, lost in transit, unknown doesn’t exist, the world certainly bans it. Left behind a chalk outline of who she used to be, but the rain washed it away, almost immediately.

Jane Doe is me, Jane Doe is you. Fight and win or fight and lose, being anonymous is up to you.

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.