frozen still in silver secretion forever perceived in a million concepts; a story engrained, and it goes...
art is interpretive and doesnt have a concrete purpose it is up to the viewer to interpret the story behind all things regardless of the artists intent
it feels all to awkward listening in to the chimes of others as i sit silently wondering why i even bother socializing when there is no point of me including myself within their laughs and jokes
i am forever a balance of weakness and soft skin with scales forever still as a statue, carrying the burdens of heavy insecurities that i can never comprehend and understand
they say i am a presumed light of my family, the potential that seeps through the endless night and the luminescence that persists through the dark and yet, harboring all these emotions and deep feelings i am but a shadow playing fool with myself and others
coursing my veins still blades pursue thin threads of peace that keep me together with weak tendrils of coping habits that have barely managed to wrap themselves around my flesh and mind
accumulation of outer thoughts build the mind of a fragile husk quietly, they have been shaped to what they are now; the effects of a mindless egregore called influence
she said: "i'm pretty when i cry" oh , how i relate to her so deep for when i tear up, i feel weak and yet i feel so warm and in my skin, so comfortable and all the more scarier through my convulsing body at ease
interwoven bodies everywhere frightening weights of "love" they almost make me gag, this fake admiration for another and yet, i find myself wishing for that same close company all despite my irks
light-bound revered idol in the sky preaches velvet soft respect for all and yet, it seems all too wrong considering all believe opposite but then call themselves 'saved'
i can see the insects up your back crawling your skin like their colony, picking on the tender white until it becomes red your nails, sharp and pearly nails as they scratch the lumps and everything and yet despite your efforts, they persist
perhaps you and i have much more in common than i thought
mind is pacing hands are full calendar ticking away towards bound due dates sweat in sleep that no tablefan can fix thoughts of exams and fears reoccuring torment of embarrasing moments that i want to keep away
two faces, two egos to my face you tell me everything is fine for every flaw i perform, for every mistake and yet, you spit venom behind my back on my name
i've stepped foot on this land only 4 years ago and ever since then, have i never not longed to go back and yet, i wonder if my home would accept me for the way i act just like the way the others have in this hellscape
automatic administering of dense stereotypes - the world is balanced off of the practice of false sayings ostracizing disrespect and yet, you deem yourself a good person
purity stained blood red the children mask the brutal scene through thin hope the ruin that follows with every rippling explosion
it's funny to imagine, with just a lone missile of hate from the hands of the mighty and cruel your life can end without reason and in vain they will deem your life
poisoned youth rest along the grey heralding you their saviour their freedom, their salvation and yet you stride by as the missiles fall and bombard the land, their black, green, red, and white haven, now with tainted blood and sickness
kitchen counter riddled in grey marble a fragrance of burning wood and candy solar blessings filtered into linear lines fruits spread in an ikebana rainbow a jar of sickly saccharine sugar atop a syrupy taste lingers in that air
i long to breathe it in once more that sweet air of my grandma's house from all these 11,285 kilometres away from home and ten years from those first moments of life