A pen. A pen and a paper.
It all starts with pen and paper.
Music and art and literature and films
They're all brought to life (and limited)
by pen and paper

With pen and paper, you create
You become a god
You create and destroy at your whim
But like a god, you are to be destroyed
by your same creations

The only way to stay safe
away, and free
from the awaiting destruction you created,
is to stay far from pen and paper

Alas, pen and paper call to you
What comes off it, is something that
takes time to tame.

It is not a question of seeking answers
but a question of control.
Controlling pen and paper.
You control pen and paper,
you control life.

Through the astral plains
upon which my consciousness
rides, the vicissitudes of fate
brought about insurmountable awe.

Nebulas of thoughts gathered
distant and fleeting memories
to assess and sort the debris out.

Close to the event horizon, yet
its gravity doesn't pull.
Away from black holes and worm holes,
through thick and thin gaseous satellites,
this voyage goes.

A radiant constellation
from a billion light years away,
can be seen. Unfaltering, ubiquitous,
and seemingly sempiternal;
it's light glistens across galaxies.

The search is now done and,
as ephimeral as might be,
no stardust or meteorite owned
could amass the value
of a mere glimpse of this constellation

Part I:*  *Caught in the eye of the...
The entrée of the storm and its' cyclonic winds,
have created a whirlwind of thoughts.
Because while the rain whips vehemently against ground
Life will be remembered as fragile, short and slippery.

The day, the beginning; the night, the end.
The storm is the only one that can take place
At both time points.
The storm has been from the beginning and will be until the end.

True to our love,
With her life began, and with it life will end.

Part II:  Calm after the...
Oh, dear friend, where are you?
For in this darkness that I lay,
I can no longer find you.

Oh, sweet Song of Storms
When shall you play in the atmosphere?
With your enticing melody, and beautiful sounds,
That break all the norms.

The storm ravages throughout the cities
That mankind has forsaken.
Rivers of endless chaos, destruction and
Despair…

And in the blink of an eye, the batting of a wing,
And a young maiden falling in love,
Everything is washed away by the beautiful storm.

What is this feeling?
What is this light buzzing that engulfs me?

Creeping from under all the noise,
always living in the shadows of
our daily life,
lies our most sincere fear.

You may be good, determined, proud.
You may be bad, remorseful, desperate.
But we're all the same when we fall victims
Victims of a disastrous truth.

Day, night; hot, cold. It doesn't matter
when or how.
Once a person is alone, completely alone,
does the Silent Assassin act.
You can't avoid its both malignant and
benign presence.

What we fear the most is silence.
Absolute and utter silence.
The kind of silence you can never come back
from.

Can't sleep, it's always the same.
I get to my room, exhausted, lie in my bed,
Close my eyes and the Sleepless Fairy
decides to take the reins of the situation.

Maybe if I go to my computer and surf for a while
I could doze off. Maybe I'll go out and have a cigarette
to calm the Fairy. No, this insomnia is different. I can't fix it
with simple solutions.

This wakefulness is not due to the anxiety of an exam,
or the diffidence I have for that one girl I can't get out
of my head. This insomnia is that small sparkle of
uncertainty that has abounded my mind for a long time.
That feeling of vagueness, of yearning. Yearning of what?
I don't know.

It is simply that feeling that I'm missing something,
whatever it is. I go around the whole day in my mind,
what am I missing? What am I forgetting?

During the day I'm acquiescent, lucid, happy.
But come night... time to go to bed.
Time to perform the daily check for recent events.
Catalog the occurrences with different feelings,
accommodated to their respective memories.

But there's something missing.

I curse the Fairy and its 1001 tricks that keep me
awake and conscious about that which is in the
subconscious.

Will the day come when the Fairy shows up no more?

As long as that feeling is housed in me, like a parasite
clogged on its new victim, the Fairy will keep visiting.

Your dagger pierced through my skin

I feel it emptying itself, the poison surrounds

Beneath the encasing of my skin

Lies a tortuous ordeal.

Never finding myself, never finding me

Just a mannequin, an empty shell

The dagger releases a seal

A past, unknown.

Keep looking for words, they're in there (somewhere)

Though I look good, unaware, happy

Fear it, cuz its only a layer

Just... a layer.

Beneath this skin, beneath these flesh and bones

About 6 feet under,

You might find it

Find me

The poisonous dagger, has done nothing to me

**** me? No

Released a seal

Released the truth.

I am me.

I've always been me.