Inside a four walled place
building another made-up space
where the voice of reality is
a background melody
as I sing to the lyrics of you
from my memory
Unconsciously I look like a fool
directing another romantic film
where you’re still meant to be, the one
that revives each part of me
that has died long time ago
in the graveyard of your memory
Writing words I wish you would say
and painting images I hope would stay
Still inside this made-up space
where we move in a very graceful pace
towards where you and I are the reality
towards creating memories of our destiny
I don't care. Right here, right now, I know we are the truth from a memory. At least we were never a lie made and pushed into the reality.
I'm laying in bed hearing sharp sounds in my head.
Smelling the sent of pine from a memory of the trees back at my first home.
Thinking about that time when i wasn't so a lone.
Getting shivers from the slivers on my skin.
I Watch the blood leak out as the razor blade goes in.
It Sends A sense of fear and chills down to my bones.
But you'll never know what it's like to feel alone.
Trapped inside the mind, seeking a way out of something i just can't find, or get out of.
Loss and fear rush through my head and that's why i can't love.
The limit of acceptation to feel comfort of by any means is at its own stand still.
Which has me thinking, "These thoughts could kill! What's wrong with me? Am I ill?"
At times i feel that people and the life around me are living and i'm just the time keeper.
Other times, it's like the world is on pause and I'm the attention seeker.
How can life put me through this? It's made me so sore.
This is hell for me On earth,
And that makes me not want to live anymore.
I wake up with my tongue bitten halfway through. I wake up with my fingers numb, hips hurting, spine twisted, I wake up with television static in my ears, white noise in my throat.
I keep seeing snakes everywhere I look.
Television static in my mouth, my hands, crackling louder and louder in my chest. My mother calls to ask when I’m coming home and I tell her I can’t remember how to get back.
I wear boa constrictors like necklaces. I wear black mambas like bracelets.
My grandfather walks out into the typhoon like it is nothing and by the time I can get the door open again, he has disappeared into the rain.
I have the most sacrilegious dreams. My hands are knives and I keep making unwitting sacrifices out of my friends. My brain is fog. My words are water. My promises taste like coins.
With every affirmation
My tongue trips over the unspoken
Unrequited acceptance of current circumstance
My submission is insulting
Unbelieving, you see my lowered eyes as an attack
I am confused
Unsure of what movements are appropriate
Frozen, doe-eyed and exhausted from the constant dance
Do I bow
Do I speak
Merely acknowledging my emotions
Sends shockwaves through the tentative peace
I was not built for this
A goddess prostrated
Stripped of her very core
Caged and chained
But it is almost as if my very attempt to accede
Is a declaration of war
What kind of existence is this
Trapped between personage and possession
My only purpose is to please.
Dreams can be of future,
They can also be castles in the sky greater than one has ever witnessed.
Dreams can be shattered with the sound of an alarm,
They can be fulfilled in reality,
and can prove futile as well.
In most cases your dreams are up to you.
or lie in bed and yearn in agony.