been awhile just wanted to let somebody know that being is doing fine being has never felt more complete but yet it is still incomplete
out on these tiles finding remnants of the true nature within where are all of the friends so we can commence the feast it isn't proper until everyone has arrived and nothing will settle for less
No need to digress. Where was the train of thought last? Funny. The reflection of past is foggy from the steam
jet propulsion- scorching- water evaporation-
writing words in the mirror to pass time even though all the time that was had has been burned
when will being learn?
...i tsum og ffo.. ot eht wotrednu fo eht evaw.. sgniht lliw eb rethgirb.. taht i wonk os ll'i evom no...
flow. flow. flow. its been awhile. no i am not a victim of the dreaded writers block. i just havent been writing because... no excuse can be made. i simply havent. but ive been spittin like a private cleaning boots.
3:11am I’m sweating three minutes ago I was freezing but I caught myself drowning in my feelings of missing you and that’s become terrifyingly uncomfortable
3:12am the sheets are still off my bed they have been since I left I’m still laying uncomfortably but I can’t muster the courage to fix them
3:13am the candle light flickers and I think of things we used to do I didn’t spend too much time with you why am I feeling so cold again
3:14am there’s no sense in dwelling on things out of my control but I’m playing out scenarios of how this could have been
it’s 3:14am and I haven’t slipped into unconsciousness yet I’m too afraid to dream because I know you’ll be interrupting
you're an artist, truly you are. you took my body and made it your canvas, smoothed my wrinkles and unfolded my ends, you painted and painted, stroke upon stroke poured love and tender care into each flick of your wrist. till one day, you stopped. artists block, you called it. no inspiration, my fault. your smooth strokes turned to angry screams crumpling and ripping each page of me, stabbing my canvas, torn with headaches so yes, you are an artist. and now I know why I can no longer draw.
I start to daydream, and I hear your voice. like music to my ears. I live out the moment, living it in real life, waiting for it to past: the perils of this life.
Let’s stop Time for a moment Why always rush? Reality is a torment Listen to the hush Of complete silence If you listen closely There is always a difference In the way something sounds The way the air feels There is so much that The outside world conceals
Why must we be Always keen to go To the next place, why don’t we Ever take things slow? Why don’t we Take time off the frets Savour the little moments We’d otherwise forget?
And have you Just skimmed through these words? No time to read aloud You don’t want to be heard Isn’t it just A part of your mind? A system forbidding you To slow or rewind
You’ll always skip through Let the words blur your sight And you would continue To read it all quickly No matter How detached Are these Words That I Write.
Stress Get’s the best Intoxication becomes lust Lost becomes knots Unknown answers Stress Constant runarounds mindless bottomless heartless shocked because the man tased it shakeless
