The tricks of the self:
to confuse and divide, ensnare and impair,
to turn the head on the tail.
Leaving us all chasing circles,
lashing out at phantoms and grasping for dreams.
Living our life's through fiction.
Against the real, it seems we rail.
I am a broken man
Broken beyond repair
Fallen deep into despair
Torched to ash like a straw man
I am a broken man
Crushed into fine shiny powder
Fragments of a ruined wonder
Now feeling empty like the Morrigan
Tempted to take the Scythe for the Hammer
I chained myself in desperation
A fools decision for a reparation
Death in turn I hunger
For life is a sweet ardor
The bitter sweet taste of reconnaissance
The salt and spice of resilience
'Tis what a broken man yearns with fervor
I wish I could finish it but it is too much to handle
Here is one of the excerpts from one characters banter with another
It is what he said while crying in front of his love the miseries of life, yet he still wanted to feel what it felt like in his earlier times.
I'll leave it open for interpretation
Let me know what you think
I met you 3 years ago.
5' 2" and terrifying.
You never got any taller, but your rockstar personality shot right to the moon and back. And you never let anybody bring you down or tell you what to do. I admired that about you.
I remember the dumbest things about our friendship. I remember working with you on a group project we both didn't care about. I remember becoming friends with you like it was an easy thing, like we both knew we would be friends eventually.
I remember the first song I ever sent to you, and not expecting you to like it but you did anyway. You told me the song would even get stuck in your head. I promised to send you every song I would ever write.
We were close. I would always make time to talk to you. It didn't matter whether or not you were interrupting anything, I would set anything aside to talk to you.
We shared our jokes, and our pain. Our laughter and longing, we were good friends and we never let each other down.
And I will admit that this is my fault.
Please don't place all of the blame on her.
She may be guilty, but so am I.
2 out of the 3 problems were caused by my impulses.
I can handle 66.7% of the blame and consequences.
I can do that.
You can hate me if you want.
You tell me you don't want to talk to her anymore.
I tell you I respect your decision and that I will be here if you need me.
I am sorry.
I know I screwed up our friendship, and I wish I could take it all back.
I wish you could remember me as the innocent songwriter who held out arms of comfort instead of words of contradiction.
I am terrible.
And you don't need me.
But if your heart finds enough forgiveness to see past this.
I will give you a way out.
And if you choose not to take it.
Then maybe you believe that I am worth taking back.
That our friendship is worth fixing.
So tell me:
If I am worth that much...
Are you okay with the idea of starting over?
Because I want to make this better.
You don't have to be around me if you don't want to.
But if I can start over.
I will live through my life thankful that I got a second chance at all.
To the girl I wrote the song for:
I shouldn't have said what I did over the February break. Sometimes too much truth is just as deadly as one lie. And maybe that's what shot your silence across the ocean.
Even though you told me I shouldn't be sorry for the way I did things, I will continue to to apologize for everything I did. And if I have one request for your next decision, I can only hope that you don't hate me.
Because I can't forgive myself for what happened.
To the girl who watches TV with me:
My impulsive behaviour on that March night was my fault.
I knew what I was doing, I knew people would get hurt, and I did it anyway.
I will admit, the rush was not the worst thing in the world. But it came with too many consequences.
So please, with every episode of a TV show that we both enjoy, just remember that we will never be what we were.
...And I will never let you be sorry.
To my brother:
You were the first person to find out what happened and I asked you to keep me safe by keeping my secrets in your chest. I prayed you wouldn't let the words fall from your heart, I begged you not to tell our parents.
I shouldn't have put that kind of weight on your conscience.
To my parents:
Telling you what happened was the hardest thing for me to do. But I can only hope that I haven't lost all of your trust because of what happened.
To the bodyguard:
Actually.... you are the person I really don't want to apologize to. But I am still sorry.
Mostly for my actions and because what I did hurts the person you love most, and that I can accept that as my fault. I know somewhere in your soul, you hate me. And that's something you and I have in common.
But I can live with you never forgiving me. Because you are just here to protect the people you love. And I am sorry I threatened your comfortable life. I didn't plan on hurting anyone... but I did.
Just promise me this:
Be good to her.
Because if you don't do that...
Then what the hell are you doing?
I cannot be sorry for you.
I can promise you that these next few days will be some of the most painful. And to a point, I am too much of a masochist to care. You will want to punch brick walls and bleed for your mistakes. You will want a perfect stranger to beat you close to death and walk away like it's no big deal.
You will want to apologize every single day until you blow out your vocal chords. You will want to suffer.
But you will not cry.
You will believe that crying is not worth it.
You will choose to be silent, you will choose to become numb to all of your pain. And I will not be sorry for you.
I will never be sorry for you.
But I will tell you that you are not going to feel this forever.
So do me a favour and walk.
Walk with your regrets and live on.
Work for your trust back, and maybe then you'll have a chance to start over.
I hope you find what you're looking for.
What once was a picture
Is losing shape
With beautiful colors
That blur on the page
It won’t fit between the lines
And the image starts to fade
Yet I’m beginning to realize
There’s art in my mistake
Something my art teacher always tells us. Originally this was meant to go a totally different route, but I think I'm finally beginning to understand what she meant.
And There Comes This Time, The Day Of Reckoning, The Last Night At Home, Where You Could Reminisce About All Those Moments Where You Could Have Been A Better Son, A Faithful Husband Or A Devoted Father, Reminiscing Those Mistakes You Could Have Evaded In Those Flashes Of Time, The Way You Could Have Gotten Those Flashes Right & Worthwhile By Amending Them At Those Instants Embedded In Those Constants And The Mistakes You Knowingly Committed Without Even Giving A Thought About The Outcome & Its Effects Later.
You Arrived At Conclusions Sometimes Without Even Thinking About The Outcomes Which You Regret Cursing Yourself With Those Empty Question Marks Filled With Greys & The Distorted Mirages Pulling You Against Gravity Into The Abyss. All This Time You Thought You Were Built To Last And Outlast Your Past As You Were Wrong About Fate Eventually Making You Realize Once Past That Gate That You’re Late.
But All Those Lapses Giving A Snap To Your Synapse Are Meaningless Now As You Cannot Control The Upshot Anymore.
All These Eons You Were Breast-Fed Lies By Those Plastic Eyes & To Follow The Congenital Assembly Line & Be Programmed For Idiosyncratic Slaveries You Were Shaped To Be In This World Per The Tint, Race, Money, Religious Conviction, Order In Society & With Hordes Of Other Plethora Of Anomalies & Your Real Purpose In Life Will Lie In The Trashcan Where You’ll Bred & Abused In This Lifespan, Appeasing The World Because You’re The Dog, The Society Dogs.
You Are Mass-Produced In Manner Such That To Be Impressed By The Authority That You Give All Infinite Reverence And Credence To Claim It.
And That Night When You Finally Comprehend To Senses, Suddenly Overall There Is A Different Version To This Sub Version & Those Endless Prayers Searching For Some Tangible Meaning To This Life Are Nonetheless Spiritual In Nature But That’s The Instant, You Are Being Offensive Towards The Established Order By Unleashing Chaos Into The Assembly Line Because The Society Does Not Want You To Make Logic Because You’re The Poster Child Of Anarchy To Them Because You Portrayed Oddity & Suddenly There Lies A Diverse Of Meaning To This Life.
The Society You Were Born To Is Cruel, And The Only Morality In A Cruel Society Is Chance. The Moralities & Viewpoint, Of The Society Is Frenzy And As Virtuous As The World Allows Them To Be, At The Slightest Aberration They Drop Their Principles & Ethos Into Dilemma & The Next Instant The Civilized Are Eating Each Other Up.
Existence Is Arbitrary. It Has No Pattern Save What We Envision After Gazing At It For Too Long. No Sense Save What The Authority Chooses To Impose. This Rudderless Ecosphere Is Not Designed By Vague Metaphysical Forces. It Is Not God Who Kills The Children. Not Fate That Butchers Them Or Destiny That Feeds Them To The Dogs. It’s Established Order We Contemplate As Established. The Paranoia Lingering In The Society Is That Under Great Power Comes Sense Of Protection. Society Has An Awful Track Record Of Sinking To Anything Or Anyone With Boundless Authority, Be It False Gods Or The Fear Injected Into Them Precisely From Their Inception, Sooner Or Later Detailing Them Into Puppets. The Sense Of Authority Clouding Them Makes Them Feel Innocuous.
In Due Course When You Realize What A Joke Everything Is, Being The Comedian Is The Only Thing That Makes Sense.
None Of Us Understand, Society Is Not Sealed Up In This Ecosphere With You. You're Locked Up In Society’s Assembly Line Depicted Divine & Aligned But Misaligned.
We Are Zero But Trivial Amoeba In This Mind Fucking Huge Galaxy Of Nothingness. To Assume That Your Opinion Matters, Is Just Arrogant Beyond Words.
So, The Second You Comprehend The Whole System Is Downed That’s Instant Your Clicker Starts Going Down And The Next Moment You’re In The Sights Of The Cross Hairs.
As You Are A Personification Of Malevolence To Society And To The Society You Single Handedly Become Accountable For The Collapse Of The Fabric Of Society And World Order. You’re A Fucking One-Man Genocide.
The Secret To Survival. Never Go To War. Especially With Yourself.
I’m a good girl
I do my homework and floss my teeth
I say my prayers and mind my manners
To them, mistakes aren’t part of the package
Crying is a weakness
Anger is a default
Perfection is mandatory
There are no excuses
Blame natural selection
I’m a good girl
A perfect one in fact
I eat my vegetables
I obey my parents
I suppose it’s only sensible
I’m a good girl
Compassion, respect, and intelligence
Everything made of sugar and spice
Came with the package
And there is no bargain price
No you can’t roll the dice
There is no such thing
Unfortunately it’s a sacrifice
But do you think I can tell them
It’s been killing me to say
I’m scared of the outcome
But I believe this package was delivered
To the wrong address