The Earth is an aquarium in which we live
reality so sure that it leaks like a sieve.
We understand what we can see touch and feel, but other matters seem so unreal.
Thousands of years we have run around, but not even one footprint on Mars can be found.
We are trapped here from birth until the end of our days, to run like rats in this furious maze.
Death comes to all who are part of this race. It is the great collision between reality and faith.
Village in the mist,
I know where it is, listen:
dogs and a rooster.
“River and hill in the mist are indistinguishable” (AD 1180, Yang Wanli)
I saw it
The corner in which my heartbeats sting
The corner that reminds me of pain
The corner that flashes back eveything
The corner in which your stains remain.
I saw it
The very place where it befell
The very place where it crashed
The very place just like hell
The very place where it was lashed.
I saw it
With my tired eyes, it lingers
With my shattered heart, it's desolate
With my regrets, I pressed my fingers
With my slow places, I reminisced our fate.
I saw it
Your face that lit the universe
Your face that glowed in every scene
Your face that I couldn't curse
Your face that will remain like that of a teen.
I saw it
The hidden smiles you flashed at me
The hidden stare I returned to you
The hidden connection of how we're meant to be
The hidden memory made by two.
I saw it
The threaded face just like an art
The face that caused my tears to fall like the rain
The broken piece of pieces of my heart
The coffin where you had peacefully lain.
I saw it
The eyes that said it all
The nights that were lonely and cold
The sadness that rolled in my life like a ball
The love that was never ever told.
For my first love. Written in November 2017.
Lines map my rough palms.
My nails a jagged notched path,
My hands a trek of bronze.
I wonder if my curious hands are searching or being searched...?
I see now, what I've done
And there's not a word I could say to use as excuse
I see why they've done me so bad
And I see why it never really mattered that much
All the events, and all the meetings
The feelings and the screamings,
They're all around one single reason,
I'm still here.
You'll see me as a violent drum,
Or a tempestuous sea,
Maybe a bitter licorice,
Or just a stone in your shoes,
But none of the ways you see me,
How I'll still be here.
She liked how the carpet felt,
Scratchy against her cheek,
And how its texture grounded her to reality
When her thoughts were sweeping her away.
She sought after the smell of salt water and sand,
One deep breath in through the nose,
And her anxiety would slowly subside
As she listened to wave after wave crash against the shore.
She lost herself in soundtracks and sonatas,
The mournful requiems,
And the notes guided her along
To understanding the emotions she couldn’t put into words.
She collected novel after novel,
A colorful bouquet of covers and the crisp black of the text,
And she could never part with them
Because they painted pictures better than her eyes did.
She coveted the taste of hot coffee,
Sipped slowly and purposefully,
And how it forced her to take time for herself
Despite her propensity to skip the present in favor of the future.
Melting on my tongue;
a soft and savory taste.
It plucks the sense to strung.
When I wrote this, to be honest, I was thinking about marshmallows. I guess it applies to a lot though...
Tasting each flavor like abstract art
Smelling the slightest changes
Soaking the beat of sound in the heart
Feeling the keys and the how it arranges
Inhaling the crisp air of an ocean breeze
Caressed by tempos and harmony
The sparsest sweet aroma noticed by the ease
Stroking skin and sinking in lovingly
Drowning deep with tears flowing
The ****** tang soaking the tongue
Navigated by melodies controlling
Heat slicing skin and searing lungs
Each sense fully fine-tuned
Gathering the missing to advance
Using each process to overcome wounds
Yet still the wish for sight given a chance
I've heard blind people commonly have better senses of taste, smell, sound, and touch. Sometimes I wish I could lose a sense. Would I wish for its return or would I truly appreciate the world more without it? I guess I won't know unless it happens...
An entrance to my fears
A look into the dark edges
Chills, screams, and tears
My sleep slings me into what trenches
Trapped in my menacing mind
Reality twisting into a paradox
Reminding me through the confine
Fearful of the disturbing faux
The shadows reach for the soul
This treachery haunts my heart
The feeling of separating my skull
My memories ripping me apart
It takes your deepest senses
Manipulates your faintest thoughts
Developing a world of consequences
Twisting your psych into tight knots
Every night you sleep and encounter a nightmare through your journey of the unconscious do you ever wonder where did these sounds, visions, and ideas come from. The scary thing is your mind created this nightmare just for you by using things you've heard, seen, smelled, tasted, and even thought. Can we even trust our own sub-conscious!
A dark room filled up
The shadows stretching
Like a full cup
In the darkest etching
The aroma of ink
The crumble of paper
The eyes that sink
The dusty vapor
The click of a pen
The bright desktop light
The typing again
The inscribing of graphite
Eh... I think I'm just a tad bit too obsessive with the small senses in life. By the way, if you're wondering my strongest sense is my smell. Everything, and I mean, everything has a specific aroma in my mind