They say eyes are like mirrors,
they show a reflection of the world in their perception.
Change the perception and the world changes too. So let's start there.
Aug 28, 2020
Aug 28, 2020 at 3:37 PM UTC
Some people just wither away,
like autumn leaves
While some still have that spark of fire,
like fiery embers
Some never get to see the light
at the end of the tunnel
While some never realise,
there is a tunnel
Some are like winter,
silent, aloof and withdrawn
with curtains closed and socks on
While some are like spring,
Bright orange and full of life
And then there are some,
stuck in transition of life to death,
colorless, disconnected and numb,
Lost in the woods for eternity
Trapped in a maze of unconsciousness
Like comatose,
they disappear into oblivion
Aug 28, 2020
Aug 28, 2020 at 7:54 AM UTC
I think it's okay to not be part of life,
to not get caught up in the commotion of life cause in the end it won't matter.
All of this, the buildings, the people, pubs, restaurants and all the life that surrounds it or the life that becomes because of it, seems like a stupid game and people get so caught up in that game because they want so desperately to be part of something and turn away from the fact that they know, in the end, it doesn't even matter.
Life becomes what it is, in this process. And the only thing real in all this chaos, is love. Love for your mother, father, sister, whoever is important and special to you. That's the only thing that's not part of the game. That's the only thing that's real and that's why it's so **** terrifying.
Aug 26, 2020
Aug 26, 2020 at 12:45 PM UTC
Nobody's born that way.
It's the life you grow up in.
The choices you were given without the liberty to make them
The choices that were forced upon you
The life you once thought nurtured you, grew around to betray you
Tell me where's the liberty of choice? Liberty to taste freedom?
Liberty to escape not just from anyone else but sometimes from yourself too?
Liberty to escape without being called a coward, without being chased down by the terror you were escaping from.
Tell me then, tell me your expectations from a person
who carries the life that betrays her,
Terror that fills her up with dread and fear
Her survival at the stake of uncertainty
While most of the days,
She lives one day at a time
Waking up at the cusp of night
Contemplating what body she'll wake up in tomorrow
Her mind, foreign to herself
Her much too familiar bed, a misfit against the markings on the wall
The walls of her bedroom, which were once yellow, now a dull blue
And this is just one of her many, many phases
She bleeds in colours,
Rarely red anymore
She hopes for her favourite one
But little did she know, the hope that almost flitted from her soul
Like a bullet graze had left a wound that can never be healed or forgotten
Aug 26, 2020
Aug 26, 2020 at 12:29 PM UTC