I despise intentions because nowadays everything is done with intention… everyone has purposes and reasons for the things they do… even good deeds! Someone who does things without a motivation is pure at heart for not planning on gaining from every action or word.
Tick tock, ka Ching, chrrrick, tolling.
What if you find a book that has all of the answers that you don’t want to know? Would you dare to read? What if then the way you see the world changes? Will you start to see people changing their skins? Will you see your chains which are made of humiliation?
Will you be inside a cage and its key is with a master of your fears? Will you even try to break free? A slave you are, a slave you will be when it falls into the hand of another slave for it is his only chance to switch. Will your blanket shrink then and stop covering your cold feet?
Never mind, you know what is scarier? If the answers were for Yes or No questions and all of them were Yeses. Now, after you read, a mighty door will open before you and strong white light comes out, will you go in or do you fear the light now?
Clouds of dust gave birth to a star.
A star that is not yet charted …
It is born by prayers from wars,
to wish upon for the good hearted.
The star kept glowing for time …
Giving light in the absolute darkness.
It stopped trying for it is a waste, a crime
to be unappreciated by the heartless.
There it was abandoned left to die …
To face the fate of being a black hole.
It kept weeping and wondering why …
Why has this had happened as whole?
The moon said to the black hole:
“You are still a star to me.”
… “Look into my dark soul …”
… “All what is in is gold to see!”
“I am the absence of the light,
I am the silence of the night.
All I do is pull, clutch and take,
and there is no decision to make.
I blend with the darkness as one,
isn’t it funny how I love the sun?
The sun does not agree with the moon,
and it won’t change its mind any soon.
The sun says that I am the reality.
A reality that shattered its dreams.
I am the example of abnormality,
not the queen of love realms.
Everyday I am blown away …
With the heat of its explosions!
The sun is there to save the day …
With warmth and devotion!
One day the moon will break.
The earth will start to shake.
The sun will melt and fall,
and I will swallow it all.”
My forbidden fear,
I thirst to have your soul into mine and let the soulless emerge satisfy my needs. The way you act makes me feel that you are the reaper and I am the victim and this change makes me feel alive enough to happily murder.
I am not worthy of you and I hate it, for I am the rotten apple that fell for Adam to sin on and you are my heaven. The devastating purity that lays in your heart makes me want to rip it out with my bare loving hands.
I do not deserve the kindness you have to give. You, on the other hand, deserve the fire you lit in my cold body. I shall bathe in your warm blood when the time is right and that is a promise for a lover to keep.
You think I hate you because I ignore you, or is it because of my dirty looks that I give you sometimes? I look at you like that because you are above me and that admiration is killing me. The truth makes me want to curl in a corner and weep my nightmares out but I will be your best nightmare instead.
-The immortal death, your loving angel.
I got used to the darkness and I have made friends with my demons. I accepted the monsters who are inside of me instead of fighting them. Yes, I feel good about giving up. The light now hurts my eyes and I am too busy curing my headaches to dull the pain. Yet, I want to feel something, even if it is anger and loathing …
I’m dead rotting down here with false expectations and hope that is forever lost. I have lost the will to live and to be better. My fears blossom inside of me like flowers and I think they are beautiful. My kind sadness became my inspiration, I’m lucky that he visits me from time to time. I begun to appreciate my nightmares, for they give me better stories. My days though … They are all the same; pale, old, dusty and people are the wind.
My mind is filled with traps, dungeons and old castles with secret rooms and cold prisons. My thoughts are easily disturbed like the surface of the water, therefore I appreciate the screaming silence. I don’t want to be saved for there is nothing to be saved. I am the ruins; it is all black, burnt down, broken and abandoned. When you look in my eyes, you’ll see nothing for there is nothing inside, nothing good.
I’d rather stick needles in my heart than to feel neglect or attention. Poison runs in my veins instead of blood and apple chunks are cutting through my throat, I shall not speak but I shall release it from its leash to let it feed and grow from time to time. Maybe I have lost my self for good but I am too numb to care. Let it be, what is the worst thing that can happen?
A little orphan was walking down the street trying to sell tissues. A man; a magician, had approached him with a rope in his hands. “Dear unfortunate boy, I will give you this magical rope, it will disappear and then I want you to perform three tricks with it. Try, if you succeed in pulling them off in front of these idiots I will grant you a wish.” “Anything I want?” “Oh, the most thing you desire.” The boy thought – “To escape this hopeless place … A beginning.”
The boy took in the rope in his little dirty hands, it disappeared but he could still feel it. He made a ring and tied it on a stray dog’s neck, he walked him pulling left and right. People stood in amazement to watch with their mouths wide-open. Then he took that same ring and tightened it on a beautiful woman’s waist and pulled her towards him, they laughed. Then he tied the end of the rope to a pole and pulled it tightly and told them to pass. They couldn’t and they were glad that they couldn’t, they cheered. “What an amazing young magician” “He has a bright future!” They kept repeating.
Finally, he looked at the man and the man nodded with a look that said “I know what you want and you shall have it.” The rope embraced the boy’s neck and he felt warmth and smiled truly from the heart. The rope got held up and the boy died. They watched, they laughed and clapped for this tragic act. The man -“Thank you.” Then he made him disappear.
My grandma’s famous strawberry cookies! Mmmmm … How good and delicious! I wonder what is in them … “What is your secret recipe grandma?” “hohoho you’ll have to die to know that dear.” If only she weren’t literal. I died to know that these red lines are not strawberry. Please don’t ask her!
Dear walking heaven; the meaning of poetry and the reason of love wars, the innocence in your face is tempting for corruption. I surrender, I give up, I give in, I resist … This dreamy soul of yours which is stained with earthy colours is my forbidden desire, I want to drink it like fine wine, if this was possible. The way you walk like a child in the gardens of beauty makes me want to chase you, catch you and fill my lungs with your golden laughter. The way you glow makes me wonder … Do you drink sunshine in cups for breakfast or are you the angel of love? Why do the sunflowers follow you? Why do I feel that you are my good mornings, my warm afternoons, my fading evenings and gloomy nights?
Those lips of yours … When you talk, they slither softly and are deadly enough to kill. Are they poisonous berries? I would dare to try. Two goddesses playing around a lake and I would jump into its depth even though I can’t swim, I’d rather drown than be rescued. Gathered roses of which I want to extract the finest perfume that could give eternal youth. Or is it a nectar of delicious fruits that will run through the veins of the dead and give life to their cold hearts?
I don’t mind dying in your arms; where paradise lays or on the sounds of your laughs; the meaning of true happiness; the high tasteful music; the light that will conquer any evil. Your pure soul is the meaning of love,art,adventure and selflessness. An art piece that is so fine that life brags with to let me know that you’re not mine to have, I don’t deserve you but I will settle for pleasuring my eyes with seeing you from a distance.
How can something be so beautiful and torturous? Like a rose with thorns indeed, a rose swaying in the breeze playfully, tempting to be picked and owned. Breathtaking and captivating, a mix of pain and pleasure, worthless words to describe such a magical creature who is higher than to be made out of clay.