A little, twee serenade for you,
Or perhaps a sonnet for others,
I'm not asking for anything extravagant like, "I do."
Nor do I want you to scurry off beneath your couvers.

Where brother, art thou.
Although, to me, you're more of a sister.
To cradle you, here and now;
Under the galleria of lights, never to deter.

But...you're madly in love with another,
I know.
And it pains me to ask you, for I am not your prince, but a stranger.
It's probably too late, although...

I've mustered up a fragment of hope & courage to ask thee,
Will you go to Prom with me?

Secluded in the darkness,
trapped behind the bars of Society;
a lonesome figure is enveloped in confusion.
Beyond the bars lay the horizon spread across the landscape,
stretching into the infinity.
Desiring no more than to break free from the isolated realm of the quiet,
the figure makes an abrupt change within itself:
to become an extrovert.
Suddenly, the bars were relinquished;
but a fragment of the figure rested upon the Earth.
The fragment manifested itself,
as though Manifest Destiny herself was reborn,
into another figure.
The figure
                      called itself...
                                                        ...an introvert.

On a scale of 1-10, if you could save one person,
and one person only;
who would it be?

Venetian beaches and Parisian streets,
on the other side of the world,
someone is drowning.

Literally.
Drowning.

But on the flip side,
1+1= 2;
or a window to peek outside and see that blue flamingo.
That one,
right there.
Yes, you!

You.
You're the one I would save,
scales impossible to measure the beauty of those architectural realms.
Hurry up and float to me,
you idiot,
because U+I= love.


Or is it the other way around?

Let your mind fill the spaces between my spaces.
Sentences are never complete,
You know, there's always room for more.
Imagination, like constellations,
And consternation from the procrastination of trying to connect the dots.
Which is which,
Steve Jobs once said to connect the dots of your future and your past.
Perhaps they'll create a Hercules of radiance,
Or a Cerberus of darkness.
In any case, there's always room for more.
Wouldn't "I love you" be better written as "Iloveyou",
Where there is no space for mistakes?

Hugging you,
My hand making a glissando
along your hair.

Buttercups,
Lilies,
Orchids,

Only
Manifest.

The trembling of my fingers,
As the blood in my veins rushes through the frail tendrils...

Blood.

That's all there really is in the future ahead of me.
Crimson and fluid like a sunset...on Mars.

Merely laying on the ocean floor,

Admiring the surface's mermaid scales.

I look at the fairy,
And think to myself,
"I cannot comprehend how much love she pours into something.
I cannot fathom creating constellations to help her surmount her obstacles,
For she has created her own to guide her."

And here I am, sitting under an olive tree,
Watching her twirl and slip through the flimsy canopy of the forest.
Sorry Hercules, Cerberus has already been slain.
Not by us; but by her own magical knight in shining armour.
It's strange how jealous I am,
Yet I feel no envy or regret.
Okay, maybe a slight fragment of regret;
But don't worry pal, Cerberus won't be emerging from my dark depths.

It's almost like she refracts the stars' rays and creates her own iridescence.
Such a spectacular sight.
That I cannot caress nor look at for too long,
I may go blind.
And apparently love is blind.

The irony.
Well, no matter; I can still relax here on the soil,
And remain calm for she isn't going anywhere.
**Right?

She's feeling down,
So it's time to bring her up.

Oh, hello there.
I managed to slip away from my previous adventure,
With the knight and his beloved.
My beloved, too;
I suppose.

I've stumbled upon a peculiar thing, though.
An olive tree,
In the midst of this lush underbrush.
It's quite twee,
If I do say so myself.
Although I'm more interested in the treasure below.

A pristine white glows beneath.
I twiddle with the branches a little to find a lovely treasure.
I sit down,
Outstretched my fingers towards the snow,
And carefully pluck at it,
Delicately brushing along the olives in the midst
Of my glissando.

Yohan Heineken, I believe.
A baroque composer.
My thoughts fluidly sailing as the leaves of the tree rustle,
And the snow echos as more olives fall upon it.

Like...an orchestra.
The olives falling unto the porcelain, I mean.
What a beautiful melody it creates,
And my fingers magically gloss along the porcelain,
Carefully molding the remaining olives into the crevices my fingers have made.
Oh dear, I've become too passionate for this!

I carry on anyways, 3rd Movement and all.
The Tempest...
A lovely play by Shakespeare & a dazzling story told by Beethoven.

Or simply a way to express my current emotions.
The wind carried the melody...

*...to the ears of the waking princess.

Simply...soothing.
The catalyst in the morning is a carefully created cup of...
Coffee.
With a dollop of delicate dreams,
Atop arduous aspirations.
Locked,
Within lovely lips;
Upon the porcelain,
Peaking with purity.
As clean as...
Apples, being allocated in the dishwasher.

The morning dew outside,
Is like the boy inside
Who'd cried.

Her horoscope was ready, and she wanted to read it.
It was 12:30 AM.

She's a Scorpio.
I'm an Aries...


*but a Cancer at heart.

It's been quite some time since I've been here,
This forest I mean.
What a magical place it is,
Where dragons have been cleaved;
And faeries caged.

The moonlight drips over its canvas,
In between the canopy,
Unto rustling decomposition.
Although I wounder to myself,
"Where is Hercules tonight?"

Maybe the city lights are flushing out
The constellations which articulate my thoughts,
And imbue their synergy
Into the masterpiece of the night sky.

Silly humans.
Thinking they can do whatever they want,
To achieve their dreams.
Well, I'm not sorry to break it to you all; but
Time has to happen before it exists.
So all your petty hopes and wishes are simply
Problems you are all creating  
That were never destined to be there in the first place.

Who am I to decide though.
Decisions, decisions;
Fate waiting to happen,
Statistics to record.
But Destiny is already turning her gears.
Working the clock.

So many thoughts trickling through my mind,
Sitting here under this eucalyptus tree.
The arouma is so soothing...
It reminds me of the princess who lived in a cave.
The very grounds where I was nearly slaughtered,
By her knight in shining armour.

No, I wasn't the one glistening under the moonlight,
For the person being slaughtered would be none other than myself.
She would sit in horror at the scene when she awoke.
Only to find that the knight simply wanted to defend her well-being.

Something I could never do.
Because defending one means bringing wraith upon another.
I could never do that.
For the guilt I would feel,
And remorse ten fold that the relatives of the one being hurt would feel.
Empathy would be the enemy,
Not the one "endangering" my beloved.

So I'll die in her stead.
So I musn't experience the ulterior hatred of her eyes,
As she looks at me as if I were her Saviour.

No, that isn't what I want.

So if it means her heart in someone else's hands,
So be it.
So long she is happy,
And safe.

No matter how long I should wait for her return,
No matter the distance achieved between us;
Both physically and emotionally,
I will always Love her.

Not to the moon and back,
For landing upon the stars simply puts me at rest
Of the brink of death from the fall.
Gravity isn't near,
But Darkness most certainly is.
Everything in "space" is nothing.
Zero.


But the clock keeps its schedule on point,
And the gears of Destiny still turn;
although the time is certainly out of joint.

Your eyes are like pearls:
Clear.
Your skin reminds me of doves:
White.
Your lips are like newborn peaches:
Smooth.
Your hair is like varnished mahogany:
Soft.

You're reliable, and beautiful.
Thank you.

Sitting. On some wooden railing.
Typical movie scene.
Staring off into the distance,
Patiently waiting Helios to set.
The wind tuning to a mezzo-piano sound.
Harmonious really.

I don't have long hair that can nonchalantly flow through space as the wind blows past,
But I have long eye lashes.
And I can glance back and forth,
As if I'm double-taking a beautiful girl walking along the country side,
Noticing the honeycomb rainbows the sun's rays make
As my eye lashes magically refract them.

My mind is racing with thoughts,
Yet ever-so calmly making sense of it all.
Of course I can comprehend my own thoughts.
Most of the time, I guess.
Then in my peripheral vision,
I see a car's headlights flash by.

Light.
It's always attracted me for some odd reason.
Ironically, darkness seems to be my friend.
More so than light.
Yin & Yang.
They're balanced.
As am I.

Gracefully leaping off the wooden railing,
I make my way back to what I call home.
Is it really home?
Or is it just a house.
In any case,
I take one more look off to my right,
Over my shoulder,
And behold Helios gathering the last of his strings.

In an instant,
The threadbare sky becomes darker, slowly.
Magnificently caressing the lack of luster,
By embedding tiny diamonds into the holes that are seemingly there.
Then, Hercules makes his way unto the stage of darkness,
Radiating brightly.

Slowly shutting the door,
Taking one last gasp of air into my lungs,
I look outside at the silos near my house and wonder:
*Do you two ever get lonely when dusk falls and everyone has faded to black?

I always think about how you feel about me.
I'm probably wrong, it's no surprise.
You're always raving about your knights in rusty armour,
Emerging victorious from their battles to save you.
Slaying the dragons,
Dousing flames,
Or simply, serenely clutching you underneath your cotton fort.
It's all flowing through, garnishing my preemptive thoughts of your saviour.

It's alright though.
You, thinking you're some wretched old witch living in the dark depths of the forest,
Always told me that "love" is something that can be immersed in without your actual presence.
Striving to see that person smile and glow,
Even if you yourself are not really any part of it.
I've accepted that,
But I still don't know what this thing...this enigmatic entity, Love, quite is.

Your knight, however, seems to be fulfilling his duty.
Quite well, at that.
Good for him!
It makes me happy to see you both happy.
(I always laugh when those around me laugh, even if I have no idea what's going on...hahaha, it's great)
He always visits you in your dark cave,
Where you think nobody will find you,
And he surmounts the guardian of your threshold.
While I'm peering through the brush,
Making sure things go right.
Because I'm paranoid like that.

After all of your embracing in his arms,
And dousing all the flames of horror around you,
You seem to be in bliss.
That's good.
A shooting star glosses by, but you're too busy with him to notice.
Or maybe you did notice.

I'm getting sleepy, and you might be too.
So might he.
But being the knight he is, he'll probably wait for you to doze off,
Then adore your lovely face as you've faded off into the blackness.
How I wish to witness such a magical sight.
How luc-

Crack!
Oh dear, I've stepped on a stick.
How silly of me.

He's noticed and sets you down carefully.

I sit and wait patiently, as he takes hold of his sword and approaches the brush.
Should I break for it, or wait for his reaction?
Surely he values the protection of his loved one more than a random creature in the brush
That, of course, threatens the safety of the princess.

He's closer.

I slowly rise to my feet and walk out of the brush,
The canopy's shade couvering my identity.
The moonlight glistening upon his blade.

I stare into his eyes, for he only sees a black figure within the shaded area.
He has determination and a sense of loyalty in his eyes.
Good, I can check that off.

He lifts his sword, holding it firmly with both his hands.

Little does he know, that his loved one's guardian is standing before him.
Perhaps she hasn't accepted it, or even noticed,
But I'm still there.
Always...there.
On the sidelines, admiring the beauty and radiance of the fairy,
Being caressed by a seemingly brighter knight.

His sword is moving downwards...

I wounder if she'll ever notice.

...closer...

It's okay though.
I'm sure she'll be fine without me.

A smile made its way across my face, embracing my cheeks.

Whoosh.

A sound like a machete moving seamlessly through silk was made in the night.



She shivered mildly in her sleep.

"I wounder what the world would be like from an aerial view.
Laying here on the grass,
On the rich soil,
The breeze carrying the rustic scent of the nearby
Eucalyptus trees.

Why don't we take a trip to the clouds,
I see a dragon there.
You know,
Making shapes with your mind out of the clouds.
It's only necessary,
Other than the usual grass rash.
Those are certainly a nuisance.
Or when you lose sight of your precious dragon.
Well...there goes our ride.

It's okay though!"
Pop up onto your feet.
Look forward.
Well, there really isn't much in front of you,
Besides clouds and other floating landscapes.
You live in the clouds, remember?

Carefully peering over the edge of the floating landmass you reside on,
You take a look down and imagine what it's like down there.
Lush canopies, vast meadows filled with raspberry reds
And vanilla yellows.
Dandelions rustling carefully,
As the wind carries them to their next destination.
Where they'll make use of their surroundings,
To flourish once more and carry on their subtle legacy.

"I want to be like a dandelion seed,
Flowing seamlessly through the air;
Carelessly carrying my legacy."
You think to yourself.

If only you had wings,
Then you could certainly pull it off.
Let the air carry you,
Caress you, delicately;
As if you were glass fighting gravity as you dropped towards...
Not inevitable shatter, oh dear no.
Simply to float unto the soil of the imaginary landmass at the bottom
Of the drop.

A dream drop.
Falling through the clouds,
Seemingly eternal, the drop I mean.
Then you notice you're falling,
And it feels weightless and beautiful.
You reach your hand out in front of you,
As if the orb of light before you was the size of a dove.

A dove.
Soft and smooth,
Their feathers may be.
Stroking slowly in an up and down motion,
Caressing every feather between your fingertips.
Feeling the gentle heartbeat and warmth of the bird,
Gazing at your with it's powerful green eyes.

"What am I doing?"
You think to yourself, in the midst of your fall.
You open your eyes once more to find yourself
On what seems to be a cloud.
Your hand outstretched, caressing something soft
Like a dove.

Only to find yourself holding a fairy,
Gleaming in iridescence.

Softly giggling to yourself,
You roll out of bed.
Taking one more glance
At your little teddy bear resting on the pillow beside where you were.

A pendant open,
Revealing this fairy.
She's certainly,
One of a kind.

Constantly suffering like this is never a good thing.
It's peculiar to think otherwise.
I mean, I can't really do anything stupid.
Sure, I'll suddenly gain that rush of temporary popularity;
Since the dead are always so glorified,
But when they're living, they're trash.

I mean, isn't that how things work?
Well, that's the cynical, dark way of thinking about it.
What about the reverse?
Alternate dimensions, multiverses of beings that are you.
Six or eight, I forgot the precise number to them.
But the importance is that there are other outcomes,
To the solution you long for.

Then again,
Problems can't really be solved by the conciousness
That created them.
Just like wishes are only a success plan for failure.
Well, what's more important?
To be or not to be?
Pacifism or aggression?

Earnest Hemingway was always active with his words,
But there's nothing wrong with being the other.

Sitting on the horizon, gazing down at the world...
Because that's what it seems like right?
I mean, when you're at the beach, the horizon always appears
Above you.
But the horizon is really the middle of nowhere,
Because the horizon isn't anything much.
The world isn't technically a sphere,
And there are no such things as "straight lines" in Mother Nature's world.

So really,
The next time you "expand your horizons"
When battling your problems;
Why take the effort to,
When you're already on top?

My excitement talking to you,
Is like popping iridescent bubbles.

Lately the crows have been keeping me company,
silently watching.

Really...
Just sitting here in front of my computer screen,
And I'm supposed to write this composition about my feelings;
Or whatever.
Something like that.

But really, I don't want to.
I just want to expose those "feelings" to people,
So people can just feel the radiation and pressure of everything
I'm going through.
Don't worry darling,
I'll bear your problems as mine melt into yours.
You needn't worry about simple, and trivial things like...
I don't know: Love, Life, & Happiness.
Just let me come into you.

Coming closer isn't a bad thing.
I mean, as much as I despise *** and all that weird
Tentacle stuff that human males do to women...
Okay maybe that was a bit explicit,
But don't worry I'll check the box down below;
Because that's what people nowadays want from you.
Right?

They don't want your heart as much as I want it.
They want your body, your clothes, your money.
All that nonsensical phooey that is absolutely unnecessary.
I promise you, I can live my Life without those things.
Happiness isn't money, and your clothes don't determine your louver.

So don't fret.
Just take me in, and I'll take you in.
We're not going anywhere,
We're not going to fall;
Because I'm not strong enough to catch you.
I won't steal anything materialistic from you,
Because it's unnecessary to me.

You on the other hand,
You have your problems with these things;
But again, don't worry darling.
I'm here for you.
Well, not really;
Since eventually we'll become one.
I mean, you are giving me your heart right?

Of course, in exchange for my...well, what I would personally call:
my Book.
Now this isn't any book. No, you won't find this in your local library,
Or somewhere in the depths of the sea with the other ******* people call treasure.
But this is certainly a treasure of itself,
I mean.
It's mine. What more could someone want?
Perhaps that sounded sort of conceited, but that wasn't the point.
The point was that I'm basically giving you me.

Now, I don't know who I am;
So what you make of this Book is of yourself to choose.
But again, you won't be yourself anymore;
Because my Book will replace your heart.

Don't worry though.
I'll cherish your heart,
More than any boy or girl out there ever will;
Because I'm not human.
I'm a tool.
A machine.
Because without me, the World wouldn't function the way it does.
The same goes for you.
Without you, the World isn't the World anymore.

Now you're probably thinking,
"Well, this person is just absurd.
I mean, we die and then we cease to exist...
Or something along those lines, right?"
Yeah, right.
I mean, we don't know what happens after we die;
Because we're not dead yet.
So we can't confirm that
But we can confirm...
I mean, you can confirm...
I mean....
Wait. If you're giving me your heart,
And...
I'm giving you my Book,

*Where do we go?

Well, I never thought

I could disappear into the night.

Synonymous to...well, chalk.
You know, the things you would paint the nearby sidewalks with
Your imagination of the world you lived in.
Whether it be slaying dragons or
Flying to the moon with the local-to-your-world unicorn.

Then Mother Nature would come along and renew your canvas.
But really, aside from myself;
People always thought Mother was a pain in their childhoods.
Taking away time from going outside and playing.


No...going outside wasn't an introvert's Life.
Moreso than plucking away at the nearby,
And invasive raspberrie bush.

Hey boy,
Please treat her right, okay?

**Or I will.

Pollution, chaos ensuing the sky,
but beauty to the eye.

Talking to a friend amidst the crowd,
He asked me a question quite aloud;
Yet my eyes were met by your own
Locked together as if they were sewn.

It was only a matter of time,
The chattering mouths around us all but mime.

Turning back to face a friend at my side,
My lack of attention I had tried to hide.

A toast to the bread that went into the toaster.

When will they come?
With my heart torn out somewhere,
beyond the surface,
I'm sort of just here with no purpose.
Just taking up space at the bottom of the sea.

Well, I took up space above the surface too.
Why didn't I tear out my heart earlier?
Now I'm just gone.
Waiting for the sharks to come and
devour the rest of me.
Nobody will notice.
And even if they do,
They'll get over it and move on.

Why are they taking so long?
I've already lost all of my blood.
Just sittin' here in limbo.
Well, sort of.
I thought sharks loved blood.
Well, not mine of course.
I'm just useless.

Oh, a sound alas!
Motionless, I wait; my eyes closed.
**Finally, I can disappear.

Everything is so dull.
Looking around, on the sea floor;
Although there isn't much but darkness.

Fortunately, Darkness, you're my friend now.
We've come face to face countless times,
And your brother Death has become close, too.
We're a nice family, a trio.

Although, being a synesthesian, the darkness is
Even darker when certain things flow past.
It's as if I can predict what's to come,
What's in store for me,
In my fate.

Death and Darkness, aren't much of a threat
Anymore.
Although I do fear Death considerably.
Darkness, however, could be my best friend.
I've never had a best friend,
But you're seemingly always here for me.
It's sort of inevitable,
Our little congregation I mean.
Because there are always shadows.

Although it seems I've become like you,
Darkness.
And Death?
You're not being left out, don't worry.
You can relish in your methods later,
I can't avoid it.
For now though,
Let me suffer
Because you will be the one to save me,
As you have many times before.

Then, and only then, will God end my story;
Wherever that may be.

How can I live
When I dwell in inaction,
Sinking in the sea of nostalgia and remorse,
Absent-minded to the plethora of boats that sail above me;
Filled with oodles of opportunity,
Obtained on their own.

So I'll try to swim.
Thrash my feet against the pressure gritting against my ankles,
Yearning for my stay.
Begging me not to go to where a sliver of me
Dreams of being.

So I stay,
Sinking,
Soothed by sorrow
While the sliver inside throbs and screams,
Scratching against my skull
Sobbing.

*You can be one of them,

A group of buffoons is called
A congress.

How coincidental.

With wings encompassing its
Heart, stretching into the infinity;
Tears still manage to trickle down and ripple along its side.

Lost in the snowstorm,
The sun is nowhere.

How rare...

The untitled book on the floor,
With rips and tears on its couver.
A tattered spine.
Laying there, unnoticed,
in the fields of books
at the library.

Nothing can soothe the pain its felt.
But one can always reiterate the pain,
Or simply toss it into a hot box
Where it can burn slowly.

"It".
Of course, there's no other name for this book.
It has no title!
But does a book really need a title,
More than it does someone with one to read this book?
So it can flourish and receive a title,
So it doesn't experience all of this withering?

Perhaps.
But is that really what the book wants?
Is that really what the author wants?
The bookbinder? (Those still exist)
The reader themselves?

Or does this book want to be sold into
The battleground of merciless bloodshed,
Where its always going to be treated like a thing;
Rather than the contents of their character.

With my heart gone,
Tis' time to wait for sharks.

If someone has a problem with you,
Remember:

It's their problem.

When...

Everything fails me...

...

I cannot die,

but remain withered.

Sometimes I catch myself imagining
how you would look,

naked.

Me,
On drugs?
Nah.

Or rather
Thinking about it just makes me sick.

One-of-a-kind, sick.


Nobody really thinks about
One thing at a time, instead they'll try to
Understand pictures in their entirety.

*Silly people.

I wish I could delve into the depths of your mind,
And so that way...

I wouldn't have to deal with the constant thoughts
That drive me everyday into a corner.
That make me want to just...

Die.

So then I could help you out of your many problems,
So I don't go on the adventures that would make me fall in love with you
Over and over again.

So...

I can just be selfish.

You know that feeling you get when,

You know...happens?

Don't
Invoke
Calamity
Through
Ignorance
Of
Not
Always
Remembering­
Yourself.

Letters are really outdated, aren't they?
Lately I've been getting into them again,
Writing to people whom I want to...

Mmm.

"Hey."

"Oh yeah, definitely."

"I see."

"Wait."

"No just a minute."

"Who are you?"

"I'm talking to you, but am I the one talking?"

"No no, who are you?"

"Are you talking to me? Or is it the other way around?"

Sometimes people don't really
Understand the
Remarkable,
Perennial, things of
Regretting seizing the day.
Instead, they'll dwell on it and
Sometimes,
Everyone is suddenly brought
Slowly into the problem that was never there to begin with.

uʍop ǝpısdn pǝuɹnʇ pǝddıןɟ ʇoƃ ǝɟıן ʎɯ ʍoɥ ʇnoqɐ ןןɐ ʎɹoʇs ǝɥʇ sı sıɥʇ ʍou