And the blind venture on the misgivings
of what they do not see.
But heed whispers from
a snakes tonuge,
to bite them upon there vulnerabilities.
Seeping Ill words beneath
Man does not need the whispers
of snakes to control them,
but the reality of humanity.
To awaken the truth
that were just human.
The world doesn't owe you a **** thing. Hard work doesn't entitle you to a better life, neither does lineage, money or otherwise.
You aren't entitled to ANYthing.
Some people get more than they "deserve".
Other people get less.
"Deserving" is a manufactured concept to allow us to pity ourselves when we acquire less of a good thing or more of a bad thing than we expected.
When something bad happens to you, you didn't deserve it.
When something amazing happens to you, you didn't deserve it.
Our very existence is a gift, and saying we deserve anything more than to be alive is purely arrogant. Be thankful for every drop of water, every grain of sand, and every speck of dust you have because one day, you may not have those anymore. So cherish the ones who you love, because one day, they may no longer be there either.
I’m the only one with dirt on my hands,
I’ve been crossing my fingers and snapping rubber bands.
And the fragments and pieces build into a story,
I transformed it to a thesis; the quality’s too low for me,
and I never set my expectations too high,
as should I, a lack of truth and abundance of lie.
My oh my and by the by.
There’s cracks in my ceiling and head,
there’s splinters in my skin and my bed,
there’s poison in the words I was fed.
I’m the only one missing pressure on my shoulders,
replaced the gentle weight with two heavy boulders.
I was wishing on satellites thinking they were stars,
breaking free from embraces thinking they were bars,
admiring fireflies not realizing they were cars
but I’m painfully aware of my own
I’m holding open seminars
to these memoirs of ours.
There’s cracks in my ceiling and shell,
there’s craters in my heart where I fell,
there’s holes in each story you tell.
I felt so unsure
While I was blinded
To see the truth.
Only to feel haunted
By the memories
That I once called "us."
As it was temporary
And an experience
To behold in reality.
You and I are
Just another story
To be told.
If one is at an obstacle of an imposing sort
or with any other side step made, this state,
to find a way past each of these, in this life's
dangerous maze, somehow without mistake.
It's just that I've always stumbled
when I see that it's so **** far,
way beyond this side of the dark,
someone give me a way to find
the other side in the light,
if that is what it is, if this some
strange curse, a bad plight.
...or is it a greater truth?
Perhaps the "Gods are playing a trick
on me?" Or perhaps there is no way back
or forward. I look back at yesterdays
pain and see it's staring back.
Death is a visage we all put aside until
it is right there and there's no way
to avoid it. Just happen to be able
to keep running...unavoidable,
This and that. Stunning. I will write, I will
work, I will not hide. Eventually we all
have to face it, and sooner or later
we all have to try to fight it.
It's that stone cold that hangs over
you even with vices. They just happen to
be able to visualize a nicer tomb
than was waiting for you. I guess
that was worth all the human sacrifices.
Just thought I'd give it a whirl. It's been a while since I wrote...
I have looked into deep brown eyes
Oh, so pretty they seemed
But don’t be fooled!
The ugliness behind them was cloaked with deceitful beauty.
The eyes are the windows to the soul, people say. But unfortunately not everyone's soul is pure and good.
How fragile must the skin of those that
need to feel that they are owed
something from nothing.
Are owed or are grateful for waking up.
Yet not taking on the fragility of life,
that others though they held
there hands up high
were now silent beneath the gaze
of tearful eyes asking
why, why, why...
Thanking something that wasn't apart
of that moment but more
every action has a reaction.
We must realise that life is a random consequence
of our actions.
And no rabbits foot,
or palms crushed together till numb.
Will change the fact that the world is a random,
If wake up its because we were lucky,
because were all going to take
that wrong step sometime...
And no hands held high
or silent words will ever change that.
Emotions have cracks in them. Totally in dependable when reacting to flaws uncertain for regular eyes to see. Cracks hide you see. Maneuvering between rough outlines of outskirts that cut awareness too short. A fishing line snagged a sudden position that wasn’t its destination. Prize was a few paces all around you. Surrounding your visage. Clearly don’t seem to notice. Warping every visual that can’t be in reach. Not the outer boundaries fault. It’s yours! Your impatient. Selfish! Impenetrable to experiences outside yourself. Cracks becoming mere targets to your undoing. Something still convincing you is all but diminished. Obvious signs one isn’t aware of what is outside themselves. The rough outlines become more edgy. Rigid! Complacent among desires without conquest. Never being a deed well nourished for choice and claim. Reasons are faltered. Balance is futile! No constraints steady enough to admit which is to blame. Or which one succeeding this entire time. Isn’t obvious, because it’s logical. A well-oiled machine fueled by cracks making decisions. Cringing in glory! Never an upset to potential. Cracked emotions offering more pendence to a variety without notions. Options shooting up on selfish highs! Opinionating one flaw to open one crack. Releasing the selfish highs those emotions needed. They get off on it. It’s their coping mechanism. Keeps them feeling soft on there toes. Grounded to a halt! Fixating a claim without remorse. Opinionating another flaw to act without self decency. Decency sinking too low for one to hoist back up to the clearing. Another crack starts to open without force. One being stretched far as one’s awareness is outlining the real issue. Structuring the inside like the outside. Rough outlines can’t pass short for outskirts never crowding enough issues to what is performing inside. Reality becomes toxic! Which is which? What is why? Why never having a claim. It’s already too late to fasten the logical seat belts. Rough outlines cracking up on the seams. Everything becomes distorted. Showing multiple fractions of law and order switching places with different cracks. Opinions urge the inside to act. Creating more cracks! Never outlasting the stretched-out limits leaking foreign material across developments. Developments offering solutions to. Crisscrossing the maneuverability of emotions raging with claim! Selfish highs breaking records from deep inside crusted depths. Environmental concerns aren’t operable. Being pulled into the cracks with joy. Becoming more of the collection that’s always dry to a crisp. Pulling a snagged cause further into the unknown depths. Producing a balancing act. Being kind without focus. Determination of instinct displacing emotions without cracks. Cracks never influencing you to the cause all together. You’re in luck. Having an anchor sinking into the rigid depths. Decisions start negotiating a little splice of different grins. Never noticeable for suspicion. Keeping it inside there inner circle. Pleading all works for the desire of knowledgeable surfaces. Surfaces now having an edge of there own. A bold disposition reclaiming victory over itself entirely. Decisions watching the fishing line creep more and more into the depths of uncertainty. Depths stretching too far to be any ordinary cavity in the construct that is raw emotions. A plan? A claim? Decision making unfiltered correctly? Nothing more accurate then letting the snagged line become eaten by the cracks forming into one gaping pit!
A somewhat stable consistency to stay active on a cracked edge. A slow free fall that doesn't consent me to actually fall. It's an illusional trick you see. Plain and simple.
me back and forth,
me so i can taste being free
me away from the horrors of the world
me towards the peaceful, clear, endless sky
me back to childhood, where everything was exhilarating and pure
me to paradise
the only escape i have is in the park where i feel free once again, before reality of the world surfaced and snatched my innocence away...
i met an old lady on the street one chilly morning,
she asked if i cared for my mum
i pondered over why she would ask me this
i looked at her directly in the eye and saw:
but glistening in her knowing eyes there was also:
And i wondered why the world left her pretty soul aching
Unfortunately, in the modern world this is how parents are being treated when they become weak and old. They become forgotten souls, just like the rest of us will be one day.