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crowther Sep 2020
I can see how not many people couldn’t get it
I can see how I demand the attention but at what cost?
Uncertainty is a game for the conscious, those who are unconscious are innocent
It’s easy not knowing but then again, I crave
Of imagery, beauty, adoration
The shadow who smiles wickedly, cackles underneath
It was never that what I seek but it’s a must
Is that how we suppose to live? The shadow will do so in order to sustain
The imagery, beauty, and adoration
But at what cost you ask? Nothing
Just shame, pain, and the shadow cackles again wickedly
crowther Aug 2020
rustic brain calls upon late a night, wishing things will be done by the breaking of dawn.

oh, how i wish these sleepless nights could end in a spur. for years i have calculated, but have not documented those hideous moments to ever enter my sight. everywhere i look, a bickering thought arrives as if a group of chattering teeth lines through my mind when i'm suppose to be at rest.

in this shallow moment, let this end.
in this shallow moment, let's stop crying silently in our bed.

and as the morning rises, we could see brightly of the horizon. forgetting it for awhile until it crawls through at night. an unending cycle that causes a lot of fright. as if our brains lingers to the thought too tight.

rustic brain will soon heal
or so, or just life's haunting thrill
a prose
crowther Jan 2020
every book has its own story to tell. but ours are way behind the bookshelf; untouched, unread, and all dusty. its rotten roots had crumpled and seizes to the temptation of dying. yet, here i am, trying to find the perfect ink to fill this pen. if i try other inks, our story would smudge and would turn out to be messy. i would still try to write even though there are smudges all the way. i still try to pave the perfect story that you and i would find it interesting. and trying for you does not matter. so here we are— untouched, unread, and all dusty.
a prose.
crowther Nov 2019
you've read my words
and count them
a waste of time
cause your life's a lime
what a shame
to contribute
relaying the pettiness
and silliness
what a pity
care to share my sighs?
cause i've counted them too
my existence is a mere reminder
of your silliness
oh what a pity indeed
why try pulling of your sleeve
crowther Nov 2019
and if you see me

cruising in the depths of unknown. it's cause i was seeking for the thing that you were looking for. you tried to look unto others the uniqueness that i cannot even fathom. you've given up your smile to those people who were unworthy to see you happy. they'd replace with pain that you'd still long to keep. but, how dare i to conquer this? it's cause i was selflessly caring for you while you keep dragging yourself to the fools.
a prose
crowther Nov 2019

we both know that I am nothing to you. but you are something to me. I am just a speck wandering yet you make me sparkle out of nowhere. you touched my weeping heart with your ecstatic hands that tickles to call out being alive. but, you've touched so many, I thought I was special. or was just that feeling that people crave and you sought to fill those but not to me. I linger away that fuzz for I know it was only temporary. I better have the coffee I have every day. It gives the same feeling but it lacks you anyway.
a prose
crowther Jun 2019
an appalled
wished to be
by happiness
and soulful

she carried
the heaviest
weight of
unease that
people would throw
with the foundation
of unfaithful bliss
wished to be sowed

rough edges
and pathways to cross
she swore to herself
they are not
a big loss
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