I fled to the sea to find the living,
drowning in dyslexia of libraries.
Have we forgotten how to breathe?
Illiteracy was discoverable amongst
the feeble beckoning hope

Dance to peace unbeknownst death,
requested by an idyllic spokesperson 
My fear for these gentle beings
ventured into an alarming fantasy
Ignorance to fully expressing
their brains taste nauseating

Frightened of touch,
Cautious of aroma,
Cowardice of expression 

Fear has evolved drastically
into feelings rather than sight

Never lose yourself
midst the crowd of the sheep
For they walk unknowingly
to death swooning them
kindly than ever

Find yourself and your mind
You may win or lose delightfully

Cowardice is idleness,
fright is reversible,
& caution is granted.

If you really love someone, you have to let them be with the one they truly love the most.
If you can’t let them go, then do you insist on controlling their life forever?
Do you want to traumatize and haunt their life so you’ll never leave them alone, even in their dreams?
Do you think you’re proper, fit enough to be their companion?
How do you think they will act towards you after what you’ve done?
In the end, can you really love if you only show affections behind a wall or pain?

There is no love that can be shown, if it is held against by its will to abide only by your bidding.

We believed in our own sorrows, and drunk the last sip of relief until the reigns were lost in the forest.
Now, we are deserted to the realm of the ocean’s abyss, left to kiss the lotion smoothing the desert on my skin.
I abandoned all hope, including the ship in the saving grace of preventing my loss of a superficial fantasy.
Shackled, left to roam freely in our thoughts, breathing for freedom is impossible in the last stages of cancer.

When my body gives in to cells eating away my life, I too, will say goodbye to my long-standing dreams that were aboard.

She bites her fingers; she likes pressing down on the skin until marks of real life are left behind. 
The flowers sprouting underneath her nail want to taste the air. 
However, she enjoys cutting the circulation off for an odd reason...
We do not need tears to water the soil, for the rain serves a purpose.

There would be more women than men who could contribute to the drought, but don’t be surprised when you see opposite identities; accept it in the form of respect at a funeral.

Everyone cries, even if they want to be formidable after the death rattle concludes the show.
With the woman, she refused a peaceful rest for an odd reason.
She held restraint in wanting to follow in line; she was in love with disobeying.

The shepherds observed without influencing the individual’s thoughts.
They did not need to enact upon anything, for they were already confident in the outcome’s future. 
Having life wanting to start a new journey with her, she accepts in rejecting what she considers ‘foul play’.
Mushrooms strangely begin to make an appearance around her shoulders and abdomen.

Even if her soul wanted to stay connected to this world, her body was no longer in shape to serve as a host.
Rigor mortis left the funeral quite early. 
Riddled with the perfume of disease, the creatures knew it was time to digest the body.
The woman did not want to accept that her body helped fertilized the world... 

She never intended or planned to help the world, not even a single innocent thought was ever empathetic.

Indeed, the female was self-centered, but she never learned that tending to others was important.
The woman was never taught how to love, so she died lonely in the end.
Those who were by her side were creatures and life, taking her away into the soil of the world. 
Was there any love in her system?

No, but her allowing her body to become a meal was a display of love in the end.
Sacrificing cremation allowed her to rest easy, even if she was subjugated to events that may have weakened her mind gradually over time. 

Although she had weakness in mind, she was a star in her own show: the funeral.

Behind a closed eye is the killer that lurks in the shadows. His name is...... STRESS. They call him the ‘the silent killer’. He finds you when you find him. He plans his attacks to prey on the young and the weak minded at night, for they are the best prey. Right before the last shadow, he slips into unconsciousness and delves into the networks of the brain. And then, that is when he begins his work.

He’s only friends with himself.

He’s out to get me,

He’s out to get you.

  You best watch yourself if you don’t wanna be caught by the bad man. You don’t wanna run into him on the way home. You wouldn’t like to know what he would do with a live body. His fingers will work his way through, destroying your mind complexion. It is all claimed. By brutal force, he will shelter your brain into solitude, hiding your brain away as a hermit to begin the ritual of slipping on the juice.

He’ll have you crawling on your knees,

your eyes will crave the desperate lust of freedom.

He’ll wrap his arms around your chest and squeeze it tight without ever stopping.

He’ll bathe you in wrinkles and steal your fountain of youth,

He’ll crawl into your brain and rot it away, drinking the juice,

He’ll alienate any living individual you socialized with.

He’ll knock down your door one day.... and **** you.

   Let out all your pretty screams and cries if you wish to alleviate two-second pains of memory burns.

  You can’t escape stress once you’re snared in his trap. His body fuses with yours the instant you are found. Your physical body becomes a walking piece of meat while your mental body is possessed by the demon named stress. There is no escape, you are trapped and there is nothing furthermore of what you can do. He'll corrupt the cells, weaken your heart, and drain your lively source that was beneficial in assuming you were vivacious. If not dead once, it wouldn't matter anyway, as he would consider you a treat.

  For you are already dead.