I lie on my back,
gazing at the vast abyss
stretching above us.

I was watching Worlds
moving past and through my own.
They returned my intrigue with wariness,
if anything at all.

Why do they view me
with only misgiving
and indifference?

The glass's glare answered the question
before it could be posed,
signaling back to me
the separation it represents.

It was I who had declared myself as Other—
watching, as a spectator,
the Worlds of the Living.

What if there was no rush?
Only an infinity of time
To discover the world
And all you could do.
But that is simply not true.
We all head to our grave
Minute by passing minute
Year by passing year
Just because this is so,
Is it wise to rush?
Or wiser to take your time
And let your roots grow deep
Soaking in the richness
Of an Earth that has seen many generations.
It is only then we truly live
And not drift like dead wood
Afloat a windy river
That leads to a long drop over a waterfall.
Let's establish ourselves,
And become a true part
Of this magical world.
Fashion yourself into this work of art.
Engrave your essence into the bedrock of history.
Don't allow the wind of this generation
To disanchor your heart.
Let your grip tighten
Into the realms of future and past
For they can be easily forgotten
Among the nagging realities of today
And the constant worries of the present week.
Are we allowed to drop the shallow,
And explore the deep waters?
The unknown exists.
It welcomes the rarest souls
Into its hidden chambers.
But who dares to go there?
Who cares to go there
When the colourful attractions
Of previous discovery shine all around you?
Convenience the wall that guards the masses
From the hidden worlds that lay beneath.

I might dare to paint love one day.
Or draw it. I haven't played around with paint much.
But when I imagine it put to paper its painted so perhaps that's the better medium?
Something about the brush strokes perhaps? Those little tiny lines but all having their own existence.
Their own job in being part of the final picture.
love is usually shrouded in reds and pinks and whites.
But that's not what I see.

When I close my eyes and try to imagine those feelings taking shape
Putting on clothes to present itself to the world

I see dark blue hues and sort of a glitter all over a black background
and the glitter isnt regular glitter but the glitter of the stars late at night out in the country when they blanket the sky.
And theres purplish colors ranging from the deepest purple to tiny streaks of the lightest pinks, and greys and whites and golds and earthy greens.

Every color that's rich and deep.

and theres this constant, ethereal movement. Like a dream.

Slow like the clouds floating lazily across the sky on an easy day. And theres a small white gradient around the edges to sort of make it glow...

I'm beginning to think love looks like a far away planet?

Ominous and beautiful
And it's corny, but I feel like we're our own little world.

Time in mind, the dark was approaching unhurriedly, surely as promised obsessively coming for us.
Slithering slowly, hearing their deafening screams in violence, violently breaking  the silent silence.

I then saw it , in the depth where it sprung from
I lost my consciousness and began a rebirthed walk to the abyss of absence.

My familiar mind a stranger as the decay journeys to the my souls core
It singes to past lives, happiness now a adjective only in dreams i confess.

Standing in the middle of nowhere
I remember that at the end of this dusty road, there are poor lights flickering
resembles my insides because of old times
(Oh! why is it still lingering?)
Spelling 'I knew it! They're lying!'
Using cryptograms as dancing lights to disguise the warning

And now i'm back in this alley
When did these things started bleeding the royal color?
backwards, i'm walking in roses and rubies and crimson reds from myself and really?
what's with these shattered glasses?
I think it's lousy to hide the lilacs and blue tulips within

Violets and blues are not blurring my views
It's like the red and green of my worlds i made up for years
these places are soft like the grasses where you lay down after a pouring rain
and a pavement where you sit after the april sun shines on it
I'm lost in the the way it could go back and forth

And behind these places is where i'm really a part of
is a fever dream even with the daylights on
A forest that is made with hollywood signs
Hazy, defeaning, pretentious but real
A storm in mid-september that is going on for years