I want to be the band
around my wrist,
at peace,
at rest,
with the sole purpose of being a band,
around my wrist.
With nothing but thread and elastic
holding me together.
Without option of thinking,
but simply existing.
Without the desire to love
or be loved,
but to be loved perhaps,
and hated perhaps.
I want to be the band,
around my wrist,
and I don't want to be me.

If not for ourselves
We would have nothing
No experiences
No loves
No friendships
No thoughts
It is for our existence
That we purely exist
It is through ourselves
That we experience
Not just ideas or thoughts
But we experience ecstasy
Don’t ask yourself what is happiness
Ask yourself why exist to strive for happiness
A thought that has eluded great philosophers
Instead experience existence
Enjoy the breeze
And live for the sack of living

In the beginning there was nothing.
The nothing from which we came.
The nothing to which we will return.
            The nothing that we were...

Before the word

Before light and dark

Before good and bad

Before truth and deceit

Before life and death

Before the complexities of reality and unreality...

The Beginning.
        The Universe.
                           God.
                              Us.
                                 Nothing.

                          We are nothing.
                      Everything is nothing.
                         Nothing is eternal.
    (So) What will become of us in the end?
                        
                        

                        We know nothing.

When I was traversing in the alternate universe,
I couldn't stop sneezing.
I couldn't handle newness.
No benedryll for adrenaline.
The stars paved sidewalks
Into the deep depths of a frozen sea,
Straying salt crystals freely,
Caught by the laughing galaxies,
Who played marbles with dreams.
My hands began to twitch
Like piano ballads being spun in the air.
And I when became whole;
I existed, finally.

what if
life is one sick game?
if I lose
my mind
the rules
and players
are to blame!

I'll be okay if you aren't here to hold me
I'll be just fine because my blood keeps me warm
I'll keep breathing if I can't feel your skin against mine, I promise
I'll be just fine
If you won't be mine


The world screeches to a grinding halt and my heart breaks again
Everything pulsing
Everything Pulsing
My blood throbs behind my eyes
Skewing my vision
Shaking my foundations
A scream, was that my voice?
A vibrato of pain and an all-encompassing dark shroud of guilty pain
I welcome thee

M83 and another sober night
I reach for her knife, but my hand stills. Can I stop the flow for mere moments?
A semblance of normality would cheer my little shaking soul.
I want to appear as a white beast with dark auras, not a dead thing by the wayside

Grasping my quivering hand, can you feel the hate?
Good night to my soul, I put you to sleep before I frighten you with songs of death

She wanders with a ponderance
of an unfulfilling existence .
It's like she missed the instance
when life was handing out
purpose. She became subverted
by her own thoughts.
Self-image contorted
like spaghetti noodles or dreadlocks.
The simplicity of existing has become brutal.
She keeps the gold within
vaulted like Fort Knox.
That protection is like an island
preventing her journey's beginning.