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Monkey Jul 2014
I followed blindly
Not knowing where I was going
Not know I was going
Took every step with out looking
Took everything lightly
Like it didn't matter
But I didn't know that it didn't matter
And thats why it did matter
I followed blindly
Until I realized
That there was nothing to follow
Nowhere to go
I started doubting everything
Was anything real?
Did anythig matter?
And thats when it stopped mattering
When I questioned whether it mattered or not
I was no longer sure of anything
Lost in a realm of uncearinaty
It destroyed me
The me that had not been real
And brought out the real me
And the real me is the one who doesn't exist
The one who doesn't matter
The one that will never matter
The one inside my head
The one with no end
Just like these words
Monkey Jul 2014
The notness of who you once weren't is who you must be. But you must be able to distinguish can from not to do why.
And why is the essence of who. But can who understand why? It is a mystery. A mystery created by its self for the sole reason of where.
And when I say why you can not answer because where isn't existence in your realm that you made not to be in fear of being.
Monkey Jul 2014
What is the final treatment for bees?
What is it that keeps the floating buzzes of noise from reaching the ears of the ones who eat golden sap?
What makes us so superior to our selves that we are who we are and not what we are?
How is it that every time there is another counter at the end its always closed?
Why do we endure what we endure and not what others endure?
How is it that the quackles of time aren't tangible?
Where do all these lights comes from?
Could they be a a mere network full of imagination?
The imagination that we use to believe in illusions.
The creaming heat of a bagle.
The freezing cold of a near by possibility.
With out the the E.
Nothing is left.
You are what you keep your self from falling into a black hole.
Bur why don't you try to stop it?
As long as a anything can get, does it ever end?
Man made or not.
What makes the making if a maker is what makes the maker of nothing.
Too many possibilities.
This or that?
Is that two?
But what is two?
A free form of a limited end?
I think not.
I think not as a thinker but as a stair case to understand what brings everything to being into words.
If you ever do end, then you are an illsuion of your self. And you do not exist.
You keep spinning with out any direction.
But yet what is it that is?
Gobble gobbke gobble.
Monkey Jul 2014
What is it
That you do with in your head?
That you can not do with out?
What is it that transpires through your brain limited by your actions due to social incapabilities?
What are the trains that you ride on through the circuits in your brain made of?
Impossibilities due to a breakdown in the laws of physics?
A flaw created by the treatment of another flaw of the universe?
A baby held back in its own bliss by its own supreme intelligence?
A fellow team mate who can not be with out the being of others?
A trusted business man who is never busy?
Or is it the main flow of energy through the tunnels of time under the watchful eye of eternity?
What is it that you do in your head?
  Jul 2014 Monkey
Bella Anima
The walls are caving in
Darkness setting in
Not a single ray of light seeps in
But i like it.

Everyone i knew
Everyone i had
Everyone i loved
And still love
Everyone that i gave a piece of me to
turned away
and walked away
with that piece
never looking back.
not even once,

But i like it.

I feel as if
I am walking under clouds
That are raining knives
With the knives piercing through me
In every way it could
Just like innocent raindrops.

But i like it.

Each night
I wet my eyes
With my own raindrops
Then i shut them tight
and lock myself away
Repeating the mantra
Don't wake up.
Don't wake up.
Don't wake me up.
But when the morning comes
I will be awake
And my eyes were allowed to be opened.

I have no choice then
I have to get up
And live it away
Bleeding as i walk around
The face of this Earth.

People throwing words at me
as i walk
You need to stop.
You need to get out of this.
Lets find a way together.

But no.
This pain is a drug
That i am addicted to
And no rehab nor therapies
could fix it.

And i
Love it.
Pain is absolutely addictive.
Monkey Jul 2014
Yesterday feels so far behind me
Tomorrow feels like it will never come
And the present
Even tho i'm in the present it feels like its so distant from me
I can't live in it
So where does that leave me
Some place where time does not exist
Some place where life or death doesn't matter
Some place far away from the world of the people
Some place in my head
Some place where no one else can be
All alone
No trace of existence
No clue of trees
No essnece
No being
Just me
And nothing
Over here I exist as what I am
And not as who I am
Over here I understand why
Over here lies everything that does not exist
Over here I am present
Over here I reside
Monkey Jun 2014
The feels
An illusionary world of emotions
A platform filled with people who are blindfolded by illusions
Begging to be pulled out but insisting they stay
The feels
A realm of darkness that pulls reality right from under your feet
Its a place where the weak go to get stronger
And fools go because they know no better
The feels
A type of disease that once infected only curable by logic
An illness that creates non existent false truths
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