Floating on an endless ocean,
clear skies all around,
east, paradise awaits,
below, endless sin,
The apathetic soul does not fret,
closes it's eyes and awaits fate,
because the future is not set,
and it is never too late,
The apathetic soul knows,
but does not care it,
looks but chooses not to see,
the tentacles creeping from below,
slowly wrapping themselves around
the hands, digging teeth into flesh
Soul can feel a tug, sinking in disregard,
it can hear the echos of the eastern haven,
but the sounds of bubbling water feel warm,
against its eardrums,
when eyes open they realize
mistakes of the past cannot be changed,
when you're at the bottom of the ocean
waiting to breathe
Fate's harsh words led me to fall down a well into a body of hate. I feel ice that won't shake, for your sake, hope that I drown. You better not doubt. With the rage I feel, I could eat a heart out.
Timebomb without time, I will snap, like my mind. My grip on malice, my fury's a crime. Your pain, my pleasure; I am not fine.
I'm falling in hate with you. You could care less...
An incorrect choice to test me
This is a choice you'd regret.
The effort to love, a simple task.
To be played with is not something I asked.
Now It's time to collect your grave.
This hate I feel is something you paved.
Lost inside a clockwork
Waiting to happen
Ticking and cracking
The silence in half with a second's helping
I was hungry and delving deeper into somnambulance
Gambling my waking minutes
Away with a hazy resemblance of life
The sharpest of minds couldn't cut it out
This troubled route gets more fractured with each forced laughter
Hours pass faster the faker my happiness becomes
I scrape by on a yearly basis as my days have gone numb
Made it, it's another day.
Despite the crippling notions,
Suppressive rain drenching my head,
Detail-oriented accounts of you,
Hours locked in a bed.
Food degrading to ash,
Your voice inside my cortex,
A dull machete
"Just give me what's next"
It's another day
Hauntings, a ghostly other lover,
Begging to sleep between,
Because to me there is no other,
"Don't forget me" was said
Thank God, another day
Pleading up a universe,
Disintegrate all agony,
If only for a minute, "let me sleep"
"Let me believe I can feel again in my dreams"
A morrow makes a heart mend, right?
So far, another day
The next day compromise.
Has lost out
Loses its legitimacy
But the Depths of Hell
Has lost out
If one tries so hard
To be responsible,
The people closest to you
Won't necessarily appreciate It.
They just wish
That you were someone
You can't be?
They don't necessarily want you to be
Traces of agony.
Absurd agony unaware of its roots.
It’s my prerogative to deceive myself.
To plunge myself into that horrible ecstasy,
where everything is make believe.
At least it lets me sleep.
No, they are not suckers, I would sleep anyway.
No one gets brave,
they grow old, they grow indifferent.
I am not certain about me being perennially apathetic and desperate for the rest of my existence.
But ,in hindsight, it feels so unidimensional,
growing old and growing indifferent.
From being hopeful to being feeble.
From fragrant dreamscapes to lecherous dreamscapes,
to absurd yet so definite reality.
Sometimes or maybe most of the times,
some sense or some nonsense
make you rock between them.
The plants that I tended to all summer long,
They were all so fragrant and beautiful and strong.
But somewhere along the way, I forgot they were there
And when they started to wilt, I just didn't care.
I probably could have saved the plants if I had tried.
But I didn't, and so it is my fault that they didn't survive.
My brother had everything going for him, nothing was wrong.
He was so full of life and beautiful and strong.
I felt that little tug, but I ignored it and walked away.
I was the last one to see him alive that day.
I still feel like I could have saved him if I had tried.
But because I didn't stay, that was the day that he died.
My apathy is what killed them, and I know that this is true.
But I can't stop feeling nothing, I just don't know what to do.
The more things that die, the more things that I kill.
But I don't know how to stop this, so I keep standing still.
volcanic ashen memories
stream lava tracks
that burn to bone
alone in a dying universe
time is as meaningless
as it is vast
a useless nothing
that is the everything
that drags us to the depths of who we are
dust clouds choke light
as shadows fill cracks with powder
dusted into oblivion
reeling from the pain
knowing that succumbing to the numbness
is the best we can do
glass half empty or half full?
why do we even ask at all?
all this thinking takes its toll
on our society of analysis
anti-action and paralysis
it really is a dangerous thing
overphilosophizing i mean
we've fallen victim to the allure
of thinking that we can cure
anyone anything and or any problem
with enough thinking tinkering and or solving
but truly there's really got to be
more to cure the modern malady
of paradoxes and dichotomies
we've come too far for us to merely be
just because i think we think
if i can really only see
what's standing right in front of me
once it's gone to the periphery
then i'm positive that we'll all have been
over inacting and underachieving
for far far too long
we think too much and do too little
it's not like it's a test or a riddle
we write creeds and manifestos
but there's no credence manifested
if we don't give precedence
not to kings queens or presidents
but to becoming a society-
a people who won't go quietly
whose thoughts and bright ideas
suddenly begin to coalesce
into lives being lived
to the absolute fullest
we need something more
we need a paradigm shift
made from something much more sure
than a philosopher's two cents
but if we don't act now
if we procrastinate and wait
our dreams will just be dreams
and tomorrow will be too late
if you don't mind
instead of stopping just to analyze and think
i think i'll take that half of a glass
and maybe take a drink
I've been asked
why I've been cold
or seemingly - just mean
tell you the truth,
I don't care
for a thing.
I've been asked
to state my sanity,
or maybe I'm
just acting strange
against all clarity.
I've been asked
behind the scenes
why I hate my writing,
it may be so
that in my core
I don't want to be seen.
I've been asked...
what have I been asked ?
I don't remember it...
Ah, it's irrelevant
I still don't care
and never will begin...
yet, deep inside,
where all my feelings
sparkle, dimly lit
it may be short, but
for a while... I care
a tiny bit...