Nothing lasts forever, absolutely nothing
Expect the unexpected in life,
the next moment in time something untoward happens in life.
Life then at that point in time seems strange.

It’s life
Life continues with the ups and downs as well as the rise and falls,
which is a routine part of life.
Each and everything and all very well settle down and become a part of life.

It’s life,
better to face the unexpected moment in time,
which belongs to the present moment in time and which has now become a part of life.

People move
Things change
More number of new people is what you get to meet with each change.

Life continues
Life goes on
Life moves even with the changes that take place around.

Always remember to be a part of the present moment in time,
since nothing lasts forever, absolutely nothing,
neither in the past,
nor in the present and also along in the future,
which remains uncertain.
So be wise and become a part of the present moment in time.

Tedious seems the routine life when all twists and turns in life seem to be predictable
It seems as if there is nothing else that is left in life now.

Normal becomes boring and so does routine, which also seems boring.
Hence comes the moment in time in life to think of a change.

Start with something new,
something fresh,
or else
start with something different.

One way or other, both the things do not mean one and the same
When going for a change from routine always make sure there is clarity of thoughts with regards to change
Clarity with respect to past and present
Once everything with regards to future is ascertained,
then and then only move out for a complete change.

Also it’s always important to know the exact state of mind before starting something new, something very important.

Be careful when you put your first step out
Once the first step is put wrongly,
then not only the direction is lost,
but also the aim, which is missed out.
.
Be careful when you put your first step out
Since if you are not sure of what you want to do never put the first step out in the first place itself.

Better to think first and think more
Better to take the first step out when once everything is ascertained and clear in mind.

Till then always wait for the right moment in time, since it’s life, life continues.

What if you were poison. This room was a gurney. My parents garage was a time machine. My drawers were a piece of unwritten elementary homework. My bed was a stalemated chess game. Every pair of shoes I've ever worn is one of the beaches I never went swimming at. My laundry were soldier's garbs. I'm living in four minute increments. Two yellow chairs are an empty wine cellar. Two doorknobs an ancient battle field. I have green pants and they might be the entire state of Florida. My book shelf is a poem by Keats, and the books on it are The Village Green. This printer is actually an English love affair. The paper inside of it a pasture, a meadow, and even parts of a rill but not the water in it. I see words scribbled in notebooks and they don't produce melodies. This is a heavy place to use candles. These are the trousers I wear when no one is watching me. Three DVD's tell a story, but no one listens to stories anymore. A carton of cigarettes is a hospital full of people working, a metaphor that doesn't need to be made but should instead be written down. Chocolate bars are all around us, better to keep them quiet. My childhood is drifting off to sleep in a pair of gray sweatpants and a white crew neck t-shirt. Hush Hush. A god hidden inside a scrap of prose that always wanted to hide away but never could. Here are the limbs I'm beating myself to death with. Here are the headaches that I rubbed from your neck; the apple juice and animal crackers that brought both of us back to life, the Wichita suitcase filled with field grains and soy that only made your Grandfather rich. I'm bruise-bent on discussing the never ending. I've filled my head with the status of ritual, I've crossed my legs and enriched my mind with dozens of proverbs, adverbs, and ad lib; nothing that ever once was could be, and nothing that has been could ever be as easy again. Each hill top is a summit worth standing upon. Every picture is a place worth returning to. If every sentence structure and bomb of the mouth was the furnace heating an article at the end of a sentence, or the sentiment with which to generate a sonnet, then mornings could be the clusters to every ache and evolving vowel. Each and every worry would be a giant and the juggernaut which knocked him down. Maybe your ****** is a tooth brush. Maybe mine is just ******. Maybe every inch of my body is made up of locks and caveats. I could retreat to the wilderness, a place where the trees are ornaments to the sky, and the stars are just the songs we don't hear. Heat is a conundrum, the water and the air too. We're longing our way to infinity, chancing ourselves by adhering to dross and sinching our hearts of blood. What if Chicago was the biggest love story of all and I was just not observant enough to notice. I've gone down in three hundred airplanes. What if worry was the tea I declined, heartache the questions I didn't ask and the wishes I never answered. What if your mother was also poison, your sister the true love I unrequitted, your brothers the Roman soldiers which saved us all. I long to be close to the ocean, I retch and thrash, drawing shivers up and down my spine. Here are the shadows aplenty. The heaviest of the hours that save on us like we were up from zero, still and counting on ourselves. These are the lines that I'm petting heavily, washing up and down, left to right, horrific nightmares that come and go as they please. All is left to be said again. Castes are bids meant to be said again. I've been taught to live well even as a quiet mess, to be white while the day's break is still to come. What if leather was the only way I knew how to fly. Bubblebaths the only luxuries I never settled. Your kitchen the last place I felt fully loved. Here is where I reappear. Countries that I've traveled to in languages I taught myself to speak. Wit the wild bunch of berries I crushed into my own craft cocktails. I'm quaffing and I'm trapping. I'm riddled with night and I still can't stand up straight. This is the last place I remember being. Turning over in my gravest stare, and gazing long into the never ending stereotype of my merchant birth and stately hide. This may be the song that sets my tone. This might be the song that describes me best. Never published or punctuated. Always thriving in bated breaths. Always living just an inch from the soon. Here where the moon men trip and fall. Here where the pronouns leave every thing left unsaid.

Funny when your own head is a double edged blade, huh?

I seem to find the imperfection of days to be the most beautiful. The goofy moments, the little mistakes, the figuring things out, the unexpected.

But those same moments sometimes lead me to the nights where I lay down with a little chip on my heart and concede, "Not all days will be beautiful."

I'm happier. I'm stabler. I must concede things are better.

So why can I not concede that I will never be perfect?

These days I end like this sometimes hurt much more than the ones I give up on. These are the days I did all I could and just accept defeat at the end of the day, knowing every day isn't perfect.

Why am I such a starving perfectionist that even stability cannot sate me?

I hate myself when I do this. When I keep on pushing and pushing my own mental ability until I crack. If I push harder the stability of my mental wall will not strengthen. It will only crumble all the faster.

I am never satisfied. I am selfish. I am wrong. There's this darker side to this pure, bubbly girl I show the world. The monster side. The side that I can never be pleased with, and the side that makes sure I can never be pleased with anything else.

I know this is one imperfect day with one imperfect night. But its hard not to be scared that this is a descent into darkness once more. I'm so scared of the dark by now. Please don't make me go back for too long.

This day has been long and disappointing and imperfect. But I just wish I could hate it a little less.

I find myself on uncertain ground,
Straddling an impossible horizon.
On one side is day, where my consciousness thrives
On the other is night, where fatigue claims its prize.

For years, it seems, I have longed for sleep,
For a reprieve from wakefulness, and the sun’s piercing light,
But now, as I stand astride this unlikely fission,
I fear what awaits within night’s unyielding prison.

The darkness has beckoned, calling me forth
Even now, its sweet siren reigns down on my soul,
Oh, how easy, to just close my eyes and let my thoughts be consumed,
The promise of nothingness nearly impossible to refuse.

But my silhouette on the ground reminds me of light,
And I owe it to myself, past and future alike
To reconsider day and all it provides,
Before I make a choice, here, where two opposites collide.

I can remember hope, and the anticipation of greatness,
But also despair and nights spent alone.
Laughter and desire, pitted against resentment,
An ever-tipping balance between dissatisfaction and contentment.

No, it’s just not enough for me to fully commit,
I’d much prefer blackness and its long-awaited calm,
Yes...I will forget about day and its promise of grief,
Instead, I’ll take night and its selfless offer of relief.

Just one step forward and I'll be forever engulfed in silence,
But first I’ll rest here for just one second longer-
I need to say goodbye to day and pay respects to light,
Then I'll go forth, and forget this place where day leads unto night.

Feeling brave.
Feeling scared.
Do I, Don't I.
Am I prepared.

Does He, Does She.
Will I ever know.
What will happen.
Which way should I go.

Swaying between thoughts.
Feeling all at sea.
Whatever road I take,
it must lead to me.

Forever, has been a word that I have not yet dared to utter
For there is far too much meaning and certainty in it's nature,
One that I cannot ensure is true; presumably no one really can.
-I dare not to speak of things that I cannot keep
Promising, love of all eternity, whilst tomorrow could even be unpredictable -

My dear do not mistake my heart for an unstable flag
Flaring by the slightest wind
No, that is not of my nature
If it is commitment and dedication that you ask
Then seek no further,
For you have already found the purest of all elements.

My fear is that the flames of my passion
Over shines any that you could ever spark of.
Diamond's sparkle could never be seen in the darkness,
And that is why my dear, you will have learn to light torches.
If not, then it will never see the light of day,
Idling amongst rocks covered in dirt and dust.

As one of my most favourite lines portray,
"My love, feeds on your love, beloved".
However I do understand the current position.
And so let us feed
On each other's light
To seek
A brighter tomorrow.

Words that I speak
Cannot possibly be more sincere.
But now I guess we shall have to see,
Whether or not you are the same.

Thank you
Please

I love you sometimes
I don't want to.
I want to
I'd **** to
I'm going to **** you
I'd love to be killed by
Knowing you
To be known by you
I'd know we'd do
Love like I never
Knew. And you
Wouldn't creep my dreams as much.

wandering in a drugless daze
among wafting dreams and empty speech bubbles
a soft acoustic plays against white walls
as we search for some sort of meaning in blank canvases
we're drowning in nothing.
we're drowning in uncertain futures
and teetering on tight ropes whilst looking down.
and yet we wake up the next day and brush aside
the colors we mixed too much on our palette
as well as the ones we don't dare to touch.
hello sleepwalkers,
dropping dead one by one from buildings
dreams of growing wings splattered on the asphalt.
hello sleepwalkers,
pressed for answers
and squeezed in between questions.
hello sleepwalkers,
the children of yesterday, the voices of tomorrow,
the unshakable nausea of ******* up and loneliness
of today.