1236

Like Time’s insidious wrinkle
On a beloved Face
We clutch the Grace the tighter
Though we resent the crease

The Frost himself so comely
Dishevels every prime
Asserting from his Prism
That none can punish him

A quixotic paradox,
Sinking me into utopia,
Unimaginable occurrences,

Learnt and observed,
No one warns you about the amount of heart breaks and dishevels in growth,
An irreparable ache,

A void untouched,
Scarred and defoliating on its outer core,
Turns into dust n' ash, subsequently,

An aggression of pain,
A collective group of insane,
Ludicrous and high on looped smoke,

Torture,
Vexated and erred,
Dropping slowly in abyss and isolation.

I guess that’s how this thing goes. It breaks significant rules and crosses all existing boundaries. Everything is manipulated: it is pugnacious on the clever and subtle ones, and since history it’s been known to prey on seemingly indestructible fortresses. It crumbles in and makes its way through your bloodshot eyes and feeble set of vessels and stimulates you to rip your innards out. It dishevels hackneyed ideas and leaves out the faint ens of a grey static, sending out a stinging sensation that is shrouded in obscurity. And amusing it is that you will more likely come to a point in which you feel nothing more grievous than the feeling of adhering oneself to a fine strand of barbed wire whilst being dramatically suspended high off the ground.

How barbaric, my love. You do what you usually do for a living—engulfing your usual sadistic self—whilst I, as usual, take part in this stupid little game as a masochistic airhead.

Windows down,
The wind pumps through my car.
It dishevels the already mess of papers that cover the floor.
Forcing the wisps of my hair to cling to my scalp and whip against my face,
They seem to struggle to stay connected.
The noise of the wind is drowned out by music,
But I know it’s there as it courses through my veins.
The wind blows the thoughts from my mind,
They escape out the open windows,
And circle the earth in every pathway imaginable.
But when the windows clang shut,
The thoughts swarm back to my brain,
They slam into my head bouncing inside my skull waiting for freedom again.


Music up,
Pumping so loudly there’s no way for me to hear my thoughts,
Trying to invest myself in the words, I attach to them.
My ear drums, grasping, clutching, and holding onto every word that’s sung.
The louder the music, the more I can drown out the world around me.
The never ending two seconds between each song,
Make my mind remember all my thoughts.
I want to scream and make them go away,
Bring the music back I plead, let my thoughts scatter.

Like a legion gas molecules,
My thoughts can’t be contained.
They bounce in whatever container they’re in,
Stretching out as far as they can go,
They fight to escape and reenter my mind at their free will.
I’ve lost control and the riot of my mind has begun.
I must succumb to the power of my thoughts.