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#speculations
Perhaps I'm encased in a box made out of two-way glass. A biased one-way mirror... Mutual vision doesn't meet nor pass. When you look at me, you only see, yourself for all that you care... Me? Just a faint suggestion that I'm even there.    Maybe that's why...       you ask about my life,       about my strife.       When I'm about to unload my       head,       I end up having to hear about yours       instead. Perhaps at times I travel around in a bubble of frosted glass. Only a blurred version of me... Clumsily ploughing through the mass. Incoherent, misunderstood and unclear. Unintelligible muffles of hopes and fear.    Maybe that's why...       My words are just perceived as       playful rhymes.       Never keeping up with the times.       Words regurgitated but no one       realises what's coming undone... Perhaps what I need is an armour of bulletproof glass. One of unique quality... One ahead of its class. You can do and say what you want. A shell that would bear most of the brunt.      *I'll be impervious.           I'll be protected.                I can be indifferent.                     I can be jaded.*    Maybe that's all I need...            *A shocking stunt.                  A fresh perspective.                       A new plan.                            Revised objectives.*    Maybe a different name to start all    over...       To tie the binds and thoughts that       scatter...       Hoping of holding everything       together... Come morning, all will be       forgotten... Maybe I'd still be beaten.    So for a chance that's,      fat as hell            or      thin just a sliver... Truth is of the three, I have neither... So...     what I've said doesn't really matter.
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Oct 18, 2014
Oct 18, 2014 at 1:36 PM UTC
ryn
Maybe
Perhaps I'm encased in a box made out of two-way glass. A biased one-way mirror... Mutual vision doesn't meet nor pass. When you look at me, you only see, yourself for all that you care... Me? Just a faint suggestion that I'm even there.    Maybe that's why...       you ask about my life,       about my strife.       When I'm about to unload my       head,       I end up having to hear about yours       instead. Perhaps at times I travel around in a bubble of frosted glass. Only a blurred version of me... Clumsily ploughing through the mass. Incoherent, misunderstood and unclear. Unintelligible muffles of hopes and fear.    Maybe that's why...       My words are just perceived as       playful rhymes.       Never keeping up with the times.       Words regurgitated but no one       realises what's coming undone... Perhaps what I need is an armour of bulletproof glass. One of unique quality... One ahead of its class. You can do and say what you want. A shell that would bear most of the brunt.      *I'll be impervious.           I'll be protected.                I can be indifferent.                     I can be jaded.*    Maybe that's all I need...            *A shocking stunt.                  A fresh perspective.                       A new plan.                            Revised objectives.*    Maybe a different name to start all    over...       To tie the binds and thoughts that       scatter...       Hoping of holding everything       together... Come morning, all will be       forgotten... Maybe I'd still be beaten.    So for a chance that's,      fat as hell            or      thin just a sliver... Truth is of the three, I have neither... So...     what I've said doesn't really matter.
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A thousand what ifs, a thousand one years. A thousand beliefs, a thousand one fears. A thousand what ifs, to thousands of ears. A thousand mischiefs, to the heart waiting here. People know darkest is before sunrise. But with these what ifs, it's darker than dark. A thousand what ifs and a thousand one sighs. What if my hoped flame was merely a spark. A thousand what ifs, should I try to listen And think and ponder and even consider, A thousand more chances in my eyes glisten A withering hope or a shot of wonder. And thousands of ways, I could hope to die, Or live, or feel, or end or begin. And thousands of times, maybe I'd lie To think that it's real or too good a sin. A thousand and more, should the truth be told, I've thought of and given too much my thoughts. A thousand less more, it was never gold, Maybe I never knew what I wanted sought. People say darkest is before sunrise, For you I decided to live in the dark. Maybe I like how I lived a lie, Or truth, whatever, you've made your mark.
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Jan 19, 2015
Jan 19, 2015 at 6:19 AM UTC
bbmariaklara
A Thousand What-Ifs
A thousand what ifs, a thousand one years. A thousand beliefs, a thousand one fears. A thousand what ifs, to thousands of ears. A thousand mischiefs, to the heart waiting here. People know darkest is before sunrise. But with these what ifs, it's darker than dark. A thousand what ifs and a thousand one sighs. What if my hoped flame was merely a spark. A thousand what ifs, should I try to listen And think and ponder and even consider, A thousand more chances in my eyes glisten A withering hope or a shot of wonder. And thousands of ways, I could hope to die, Or live, or feel, or end or begin. And thousands of times, maybe I'd lie To think that it's real or too good a sin. A thousand and more, should the truth be told, I've thought of and given too much my thoughts. A thousand less more, it was never gold, Maybe I never knew what I wanted sought. People say darkest is before sunrise, For you I decided to live in the dark. Maybe I like how I lived a lie, Or truth, whatever, you've made your mark.
Continue reading...
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