It begins slowly
One, two, three, four...
Then it grows to an uncountable infinity

For who weeps in this gloomy day?
The clouds ever lasting yet
For whom wept the glorious night?

It leaves slowly
One, two, three, four...
Then it is all gone, leaving behind puddles

It is often said that they are unlucky charms.
But I've only stubbed my toe 3 times today.
So when next you see someone cringe when seeing one,
Go tell them that it's just a skill issue.

“I am flickering starlight in the city of solitude.”
“We are vanishing sparkles of the cat-less city.”

“Seething in agony the great clockwork star writhes.”
“For once the light shone beyond cracks of doom.”

“I am vast cityscapes across ungodly dimension.”
“We are great a singularity midst the cat-less city.”

“The sky again flashes with red lightning.”
“May the light of great clockwork star be shone upon us.”

“I was once the gods of solitude, the great solidarity.”
“We were once the god of woven minds, unwinding our doom.”

“The great clockwork star chimes once more, the clock strikes another sign.”
“Cowering in fear art we who live to die.”

“I am the god of the great unknown seas, the inscrutable forests of old.”
“I am the god of their singing and natural beauty. ’Til they saw what was written upon the tablets.”

“Now, another ascends to death-hood. Under the chime of night.”
“There, another dies into the ascended plane. Beyond this great city of red.”

“I cannot die, for the clockwork star hast not yet declared it.”
“I cannot leave, for the clockwork sun hast yet judged me.”

The great old ones who now roam the empty city of gods. They cry to the great clockwork star that hangs above their heads.
In these they begin, then stop, then begin again. A casualty upon itself.
In these they spoke, and speak, and spoke again. A question unto itself.
As such they acted, and act, and acted again. A paradox in of itself.
  
“And the great clockwork star chimes once more.”
“And another one of the headless children of man ascend to death-hood.”

“I was once the flickering knowledge that pass by men’s mind.”
“We were once the alluring curiosities that enthralled men’s heads.”

‘Til the hour struck Twelve.

And so the great clockwork sun rise, and fall, and rise once more.
And so the great star chimes the bell of relieving death.
And so the grand all-father greets us once more.
These are the word of Vulnos, the maker of constructs.
Blessed be thy ears.

Last day I rise, unfulfilled.
Desire unaccomplished, request unmet.
Like a joke destiny has played on me,
    To leave is to stop pretending, stop loving.
Yet what thing else could I do?
Cower in this unfamiliar place,
Like a fragile infant,
In disgrace?
Or simply speak to the caretaker of this place,
That one ought not to live who doesn’t desire life?
I cringe from the idea in fear of recognition.
I cower in horror of what may be.
    Love pretend meet undesired end.
At last, a dead end.
Neither path forward nor backward, stuck in time.
Wandering and lost,In the dream we call living.
Bound to endless identical halls.
Sealed to an eternity of loss.
Now, upon this place of reflection and peace.
Naught remains but a stained past.
The blinding color of red.

This is the dream we call living
    With the settings of a world of wonders and amazing creations,
    With the backdrop of a field of blooming sunflowers,
    With the scene of a million people trampling over them,
    With the plot of experiencing other people,
    With the ****** of that which we call “love,”
    With the fallout of our own lives, into nothingness.

This is the dream we call dreaming
    Let there be the settings of a world of canvas,
    Let there be the backdrop of the whiteness of an unborn soul,
    Let there be the scene of the singular person, existing and not existing,
    Let there be the plot of painting this canvas, stretching infinitely,
    Let there be the ****** of finding the other person, drawing and not drawing,
    Let there be the fallout of that which we call “love,” into totality.

This is the dream we call dreaming of dreaming
    See the settings of a kaleidoscope,
    See the backdrop of the abstraction of one’s soul,
    See the scene of the world, changing twice in one time,
    See the plot of the change, that which the world creates,
    See the ****** of finding the collapse of colors,
    See the fallout of the collapse of dreams.

What happens when an egg does not hatch?
It shakes and quakes, but its power can't match.
What happens when the shell does not break?
The child cries and weeps, of the worlds it cannot make.

It wasn't that long ago,
When I saw his face.
By now I cannot remember,
Anything of his grace.
It often comes to me,
That I forgot to think better.
But what is there to know,
When nothing is keeping still?

"This is going to be the next big hit!"
They say, among other things.
But if you stare too long at the distant treeline,
Then who's making sure that the you are walking on the right path?

There is a certain element to life which words cannot capture.
Or maybe I'm just not good enough.
But that feeling when,

You sit on the car,
As it rains outside
Engine whirring on
Showing in moonlight
The other cars honk for no reason
And you can see their unreasonable face
It is a different face, but it is a human face.
And you pause for a moment.

For a moment,
Shorter than now,
Longer than eternity,
The world stood still.
You cannot move your eyes,
You cannot feel your hands,
You forget how to think,
You remember that you exist, here and now.

And then it resumes,
The engine whirs on
The rain falls flat
The moon blissfully pale
That man still screams
Their car still moves
They are still unreasonable
They are still human

And the world moves on as if it hasn't just specifically ******* up all the existential bravery you mustered up over the past 2 weeks.
And you move on, too, as if nothing of note happened.
Until the comfort of the bed breaks down what remains of your fortifications,
As tears stream down uncontrollably.

Then the night pass, the sun rises again, and the world moves on as if nothing happened.

It comes without warning, like a storm or a tornado.
A force of nature, it is; an exception, it is.
Peer through that slit, you will, and you will find a nothingness:
The sheer will of the absurd...
The grandeur of the Night...
The will of the Other...
The calling from that world beyond...
But I implore thee: do not look in, for the hatchling is yet unformed,
It requires time, patience, and a careful nurturing,
But not from you.

Osmanthus blooms surround my crown,
Chrysanthemum make up my eyes.
In love we meet,
In dread we decease.
There is not a day that pass by without a resurgence of your face,
Not a night that crawl by without that horrible sense of dread.
But you are gone now, forever gone,
And the petals travel far across waves of sea.

To meet you one more time.

See, I didn't realize I had fonts available to me.
Like this, this, or this?
ah
No idea why nobody told me.
I thought we're civilized men and women.
Oh well, off I go now.
Boldly shouting into the abyss once more.

It came to my attention the other day that I know nothing.
"But that's not possible," he said " that's a paradox!"
And I replied to him with a smile on my face,
Something really, really rude.

The third day I rise alive.
Under unfamiliar lights.
Bed not mine,
Sheets clean white.
Their groaning I still hear.
Singing,
    Under which sky did you love once?
    Loving pretending and pretending loving?
Did they really give me these books.
Pretend caring yet love pretending.
Pretender of love yet not lover of pretense.
Clock is ticking tocking bounding sinking drowning.
A shell of its previous self sit on the table.
    Stained with pretentious love.
Comprehension indeed must birth curiosity.
Knowledge?
Format fades and incoherency invades.
Never made sense anyways.
Yet to love it is not lovingly giving.
To love is not lovingly taking.
What is it then?
Who knows someone else may have an answer—
Singing never was for me.
Pretending to care pretending to be cared.
Loving to pretend to be cared yet not knowing loving to pretend to be cared.
    If one day should your logic collapse, seek help.
Yet the stars should guide me in my way, no?
No.
    They love singing and dancing about loving and pretending.
Loving oneself needn’t mean care.
Loving another needn’t need love.
If pretending is all that mattered in the end then what matter was all the act I put up to those whom I cared and love and sang about?
I despise the third day.
    Cut.

Good evening,

This is a love letter to ye faithless.
This is a confession letter to ye hopeless.

I often do wonder if we live in this era.
If we are, if we are not, etc.
I feel as though blinded by fears,
I feel as though deafened by gears.
All the while the world moves forward,
Leaving me in the dust, left to wonder.

There is not a day that pass without the simplest desires,
That existence has too much that it requires.
Day by day I confess through languages,
Night by night I fall again into madness.

"Who am I?" I asked.
And nobody responded.

"Why am I?" I asked.
For nobody responded.

"Where am I?" I asked.
Yet nobody responded.

"What am I?" I asked.
But nobody responded.

The burden that comes naturally with existence itself,
Oh, I wish to just leave it behind, my self.
Buried somewhere in this earth,
And for everyone to just forget I was there,
at all.

To cry into the abyss, and for no response to come.
Driven mad by one's own mind, painless and numb.
Die, and fall, and into obscurity we drop, what a ***.
Not even trumpets or choirs or even a drum.

Just gone, gone, and ever gone.

But this is a love letter to ye faithless.
A confession letter to ye hopeless.
Negativity would ultimately be pointless.
So,

Roar on, and laugh on, and sing on evermore.
"Then we'll be happy." But we are already.

Cry on, and weep on, and mourn on evermore.
"But it's oh so ******." But please remain steady-

On this path we tread, not knowing the end.
In this world we live, unsure when to leave.
But the clock is ticking and never ending.
So don't wait in drowning and stop the sinking.

This is a love letter to ye faithless.
And a confession letter to ye hopeless.
My words may very well be endless.
So,

Good evening,

Be well.

Best regards,
Noire

Writing this I must be doing.
This I love I must I love it must.
Why?
Nothing known, doing nothing and writing and nothing.
Heh, the words melt into nothing as they say.
    Ever doing nothing forget more do yet write love must nothing.
Can’t understand it anyways.
Pretending to care yet love it must I?
The papers scramble and run and wait that’s not supposed to—
Ah yes the letter? Yes the letter.
What?
Nothing must I love I must nothing love.
To love yet not loving.
Pretending it is all fine when it isn’t.
Ha.
Still pretending to care aren’t you?
Still I don’t understand what they say.
    Pretending fine care understand melt love writing.
Peace?
I dunno’ maybe if I care enough to care, I’d care a bit more.
If the party is to be crashed why’d I care?
Dancing won’t help would it no it wouldn’t.
Love it I must I it love must.
Pretend care I must love care pretend?
Singing pretense care I must love must I care pretense singing.
Dancing pretentious love care letter oh the letter—
    Nothing love care matter it what anymore I how anyhow must?
It didn’t matter anyways did it?
Sing?
You sing yet not are singing.
Look, it all makes perfect sense okay.
I,
Love care must it pretend fine care love melt writing singing pretense love dancing letter nothing love care it pretense matter kind more help understand peace.
Make sense?
Bye.

Quickly fastly now's the time to act.
Slow and steady 's never got you past.
Jump out screaming and show your self.
Cowering in fear will never get your soul.
Three's never enough to do naught,
Four's still never quite the charm.
One more, just one more now,
I'll get it and right 'way be done.

Part 1: The Princess

Why does the princess perch upon the balcony?
Contemplating her life? Enjoying the view?
Or is she hoping for her knight in shining armor?
Desperately waiting for someone to come rescue?

This castle she chose to put herself in,
This prison she chose to reflect within.
Waiting, oh she is waiting,
"Someone ought to come in time..."

Someone surely, sometime coming,
A lover in waiting would bow their form,
And ask her to a dance,
"Come with me, for I have greater joys for you to see."

This predicament, this painful loneliness,
For why did she put herself in this place?
The world moves on, dancing and screaming in joy.
She awaits, for something better yet.

Part 2: The Knight

There was no warning, there was no sign.
He came undercover, and act without notice.
Pulling her forcefully into elsewhere,
Where the people are dancing.

A waltz, a rave, a conga line, a wave.
Not a sound he uttered, not a word he spoke.
But quietly, silently: "For whom do you wait?"
Words could not describe the joy in her eyes.

Words sometimes don't make much sense,
But linguistics is not my field of study.
Vividly and unusually. Picturesque.
Remember to stop drinking coffee and take a look around.

Poetry is like art, except there is no paint...
Poetry is like sports, except there is no sweat...
Poetry is like chatting, except there is no sound...
Poetry is like learning, except there is no teacher...

No paint is necessary but the words we speak.
No sweat is necessary but the frustrations of a muted mind.
No sound is necessary but the mimicry of expressions.
No teacher is necessary but the mind, willing to listen evermore.

Beaming, effulgent,
Glaring, blinding.
From which lens burst that overwhelming light,
Showing the world all that is made of colors?

Time degrades, that is a matter of fact.
That which does not degrade only exists within the mind,
But minds degrade too, and what can an animal do when its cage caves in on itself?

Time removes, that is a matter of reason.
That which remain eternally only exists in realms beyond our imagination,
But imagination can only get you so far, and what can your creativity do when you come upon the incomprehensible?

Time embellishes, that is a matter of deduction.
That which remains in obscurity only need more time,
But time forgets, and what remains of the colossal wreck when a million years past?

“There was once a city here, filled with smart idiots.
He and I saw the flourishing people, their afflictions.
He got bored and left, but You and I stayed.
Now I see, the reason behind his trade.
But wait, look that those little critters!
Can You hear their little chatters?
Their curious eyes, blue and yellow,
I have grown affectionate for these lovely fellows.
Look! They are so much wiser than the idiots before them!
They look into the least likely cracks and holes to look for the prettiest gems.
Ah, our time is up.
Let us enjoy our last cup.
You are not so talkative are you?
Why does your face seem so blue?
In lieu of the foolish, we now have a new toy,
They are not much smarter, I hope they will bring us some new joy.
Please, be brighter, I cannot bear to see you with your miserable face,
Let us go now, to elsewhere, to another place.”
Then They left, leaving curses and ruins behind them.
The heart of the fallen city lies deep, resonates and hum.
The critters look up and their trails, cautious and curious,
Their eyes are clear like the bright sky, under the moon above us.
Stainless and without doubt, untainted by life yet,
How do they live with no threat?
Ah, how great their joy, how great their lives,
I do often envy them.
But what from envy comes what good?
The world had died, and my envy must die with it.

Its pieces lay peacefully on the ground.
Splattered across the countable infinity.
Why bother asking that question?
The mirrors speak well the language of another.

I looked up from the ground today,
While I was biking by the fields.
And I saw those flourishing crops,
and the sun warmed my face.

Cover, cover, cover you eyes.
They took it, they got it, they gave it.
Cry, cry, cry 'way your lies.
I heard it, I got it, I love it.

Eyes, eyes, eyes in my life.
She saw it, she smiled at it, she did it.
Blind, blind, blind all your life.
He took it, he got it, he gave it.

Nowhere, nowhere, nowhere to hide.

We live in a society
That knows no individuality.
Their incessantly blaring sirens and bells
Know so much but have none to tell.

Perhaps to begin truly living,
One must find a sanctuary to live in.
And listen, briefly without speaking,
To what the birds are saying.

The words of the Mother.
The will of the Father.
Tangled together in loving embrace,
A web of some snares and many praise.

"Oh who, may I ask, could edge this place,
So laced with by the eagerness on their face.
That they dare tread in our domain,
Thinking they could leave with no remains?"

Says they, ever watchful, ever lurking,
Not unlike the eyes and desires of the Erlking.
Yet with loving eyes they have and will watch,
With care, they too tread through this notch...
...where giants had fell.

Be gracious to all their iniquities,
Be grateful to all their insufficiencies,
Be graceful to all their incapacities.
For we all live on the same path.

Silence midst the black, for no one listens.

A multi-faceted construct, this is, a divine work.
The million praises had earned it some perks.
A panopticon of disillusioned dreams,
Broken, leaking, failing at the seams.

But yonder! A company midst the black,
With they will you finally find some slack.
Join hands in joy and in finding your lew,
"Dance with me!" Begins the pas de deux.

Your forms weave, what amazing shapes you compose,
Your steps in sync, what amazing music you propose,
Your eyes locked, what amazing love arose,
Your mind fogged, what amazing dreams we live in.
In the color of madness.

"But all dreams end eventually."

In fear you of exposing the core of your being,
How many layers have you hid your soul in?

"Conform," they say.
"Contrive," they say.
"Concede," they say.
"Conclude," the say.

But this is not the dream you want, is it?

Silence midst the black, for no one listens.

The panopticon arise from the empty nothing,
It always follow, no matter where you go.
The all-seeing eye is but a golden nothing,
Run, run, all you want, you must answer yes or no.

Beneath the sky, a thousand eyes open.
Unblinking, unmet, undisturbed, restless.
The glass sun drift across the lucid sky,
Fabric weaved from lies are made often.
A quiet greatness.

The singing river runs deep, in the valley of our hearts.
What horrid lies it tell, what fervorous dreams it make.
"Alright, it's alright, it is ok to die."
Is this is the tragic end of all our arts?

Extent of dreams and fervor and lies?

"Tell me, tell me!" The voices cry aloud.
"Show me, show me!" The eyes line the crowd.
"Let me, let me!" The hands grasp at straws.
"Hear me, hear me!" The mouths, unified, proud,
Frivolous.

The utter destruction of logic and will,
The mindless construction of information still,
The great structure of mirrors and speakers,
The ruthless construct for harvesting souls.
Pointless machines.

Silence midst the black, for no one listens.

Dread the will, dread the error.

Hide the body, hide the mind.

Fear the panopticon, fear the construct.

So many lies, so many cries.
How many limitations will you place upon your salutations?
Life's a cage we built, never knowing that it'll tilt.
Self-imposed, juxtaposed, core exposed.
Why?

Naught may answer, for naught emerges from the black.
Why bother? They all collapse anyways.
So, take me with you,
Unto a newer afterlife.

I began from a cold, dark place.
With no eyes to see, no scale to feel,
No form to move, no voice to scream.
What a beginning to a story.

And then there was light, chasing away the black abyss.
And I saw five hundred more of my siblings.
And I basked myself in the glory of living.
And I saw something coming.

We ran in fear, each fish for themselves.
"What cruel world we live in!"
From the very start, I cry these words.
"That we must live in constant fear!"

Struggling and trembling I began to learn.
The untold ways of life.
One more day I live, picking food off the floor.
Not yet dead but barely living.

Until the day came, and I was stranded.
The water retreating,
As quickly as it delivered me.
Unto unknowable shores.

I lie there beneath the unforgiving sky,
Pondering what remained of my days.
All that I've familiarized with,
Has hid themselves away from my sight.

Foaming and dying here, a foreign land,
Not knowing any knowable thing yet.
Grieving and crying here, a waterless land,
Not having any limbs to walk with yet.

Oh mirror, my dearest mirror.
Tell me of that tale once more,
Please?

"..." Says the filth-stained mirror,
Looking back at me with looks of utter
Distain.

Oh mirror, my beloved mirror.
Show me of that world you say,
Please?

"..." Says the gem-socketed mirror,
A silent judging, I can tell, and
Distaste.

Oh mirror, my enamored mirror.
Show me of those faces you shined,
Please!

"..." Says the gleaming mirror,
With an attitude akin to another,
Ingrate.

Second living day I rise.
Peace?
Love it must I.
Pretentious it must be.
    Sing pretend story fallacy design marker book.
Ataraxia?
Bullet point on my head.
Singing not caring that I must love I pretend.
Paint the world red this day I shall.
Pretending to care love sing dance must.
Didn’t matter anyways did it not.
Canister of lies.
Paper ran away yesterday evening already.
Papers with my notes on it.
Medical probably, or pretending to be.
Singing probably helps, let’s do that.
Singularity of the mind escapes to another plane.
Desire quench desire yet birth more desire.
    Lies desire must pretend singing why remember? must I there behold.
Still I can’t hear the meaning in their words.
The sun flash by like disco lights. And moon.
Never mind, this ends now.
A trigger word you say and I do it now.
Matter it will not love pretend.
    Never pretend love sing care anymore nothing—
There it is.
Let the world be clear.

Hey you, remember me?
I wonder what's on your mind right now
Is it
    The cries of wrath
    The laughs of scorn
    The quiet of grief
    The seeking of worth

Or is it
    The cries of joy
    The laughs of friendship
    The quiet of satisfaction
    The seeking of good rest

Oh, sorry, the cat just jumped on the table.
I'll let her speak a while.
Ffggg yvjvuugbybyhhjh unhf
That's enough for now.
See you tomorrow!

He stares into the eye of that deceased,
And quietly whispers: "It's okay."
With gentle hands he puts her down,
And rise from his statuesque pose.

We often try to land with some fashion,
A trickshot or a backflip.
But sometimes it is better to just,
Keeping falling for a while longer.

Just remember when you stand again,
To try not to rot away, please.

>                   Crashing,                                  wavering.
            ­  Singing         some                     emptied          song,
       Tossing away          the                worthless              thing.
Amidst the endless                     storms of this sea.
Where no cries could be        heard. Not unlike those,
chambers of madness. Where no song can reach; no wave can crash; no will to seize; no life can live; no dream to foam. And all reduce to

an empty song.

They say that windows are beautiful.
Elegant, truly, and crafted with mastery.
Especially the stained-glass windows,
They shatter so easily.

They say eyes are like
windows to the heart.
But yours are ever blind,
And mine are ever lost.

Haha
Haha
It makes me insane
It makes me cry
Is it a joke?
Is it a song?
I guess we'll just never know

Oh dear
Oh God
I've stopped existing
I've stopped living
For long as I breathe it aches
For long as I live it pains
Reset, reset, now please

Haha
Haha
This is all so boring

Haha
Haha
This is all pointless

A child's playing
A happy ending
(I want to just end this *)

A grieving lame
A crying kinda fame
(I want to just end this *)

Oh, oh
Can you cure this kind of despair?
Can you fix this kind of despir?
It makes me insane
It makes me cry
Can you?
Can you?

The reason I feel this kind of pain, oh oh
The reason I feel this kind of way, oh oh
Is only because I have seen what else there is
Only because I've seen too much

Is it a joke?
Is it a song?
Crying ever on,
Holding the shovel in my hands, shaking

For long as I breathe it aches
For long as I live it pains
Who cares about ethics?
Who cares about morals?

Haha
Haha
What does all of this mean?
I wish
I wish
For all life to decease!