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Miguel Cardozo Jul 2019
Surely, though our story is to be found amongst the rooms and walls and shelves  within the library of Babel...

Each letter perfectly paired to the next, and every space in its rightful place.
Periods and commas punctuating every moment exactly as they should.

...That room has yet to be illuminated, The walls therein unseen, It’s shelves have been left unenumerated.
And the book is yet unnamed...

Lost is the certainty,
the written account,
existing within the infinite possibilities of algorithmic and mathematical clout.

...Leaving us to marvel and worry only armed with faith and good reason, through all of life’s seasons and its many unmeasurable miserable doubts.
Kinda at a crossroads with relationships and work... I found a website called the library of Babel where a guy basically came up with a way to get every possible combination of the 26 letters in the English language, plus periods, commas and space. Making it possible to find a perfect written account of your birth/life/death and everything in between... if you just knew the location within its infinite volumes of seemingly endless babble.
Speak Bluebell Apr 2019
Sometimes life just pushes you through doors you never even noticed. Doors possessing a different keyhole than the one you have on your person. It was never locked; it stood there resolutely ignoring your breath while you ignore its oak.

You knock on it now.

You have trouble making a rhythm. Your nerves forget that doors could be opened from the outside. You stand there waiting for something to turn the ****, ignoring the fact that you are a man and you have hands and you alone have the strength to open it.

You knock some more.

Sometimes, the door is wrong. You figure out how to open it and you’re greeted by the nightfall. You put your hands in front of you and try to feel the wind. There are no gales in September. The room is a workshop and you are a doctor.

You take two steps backwards.

Life mocks you by throwing you by the same door again, some time after you forgot about the second one. You pushed it by muscle memory and was greeted by the sun. There is a bluebird perched on a willow. It sings for you, doctor. The song is for September.

The workshop at last.
it was a weird hiatus.
I don’t need your money
I don’t seek your attention
I don’t want the love we had
And I hate the memories we once shared

Being torn apart
Screaming until you have no voice
Crying for help that won’t come
You’re in pain but you feel none

Some call you crazy for the things you try
Some find it admirable not knowing it’s all a lie
When there’s no escape and you know you’ve tried
Take every chance that arise to revive what long ago died.

It’s been quite a journey my friend
but now it’s time for it to end
So please, my stupid heart
Give it up so my life can start
Just because you're breathing, doesn't mean you're alive
Lost in my Head Apr 2019
What do I do
Why the hell do I do what I do
I feel like a train hurtling towards another
Yet doing nothing to stop because I love the thrill of going fast
take me back to when I didn’t care
empty seas Feb 2019
the stars are bleeding
golden wisdom from the sky
drips down to us below

i open my arms wide
stare up at the dizzying darkness
and let the stars and universe
help me do what’s right
i am at a crossroads
Rowan S Jan 2019
Time is holding out on me
Promising solutions to old conflicts
Granting a reprieve to pain
A contract on her terms
And me, equine-like
Forever chasing the assurance
That one day
I'll wake up
And not have this serpent 'round my heart
But for now
It remains a hair's breadth out of reach

              -a crossroads contract
Bindashi Misao Dec 2018
what if these stars are all those wishes
that never came true!
and they try to tell us...
that even something incomplete,
can be so beautiful...
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