Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
The melancholic stir of emotions
Deforming this whirlpool,
The miserable stench
Accompanying noses around,
The tastelessness
Smoking up the tasteful surroundings,
The crazy scent
Climbing out mindlessly....

Just to get bottled in this purity.
Through the eyes of those who bottle the reality of the mentally disabled, the world feels like a jar of so-called purity surrounded by a vacuum.
Mrs. Envy is always troubled of her guilty pleasures,
Her enduring romance with emotions never ceases to die.
She needs to step out of her comfort zone,
She needs to face the world as it is.
The fall in this abyss is restful.
Once in a while, it seems peaceful.
Looking back at things is a whole lot worse,
Than falling in this abyss.

The descent is calming and tranquil,
Each second is blissful,
The air of divinity here slows the rush,
The rush of the haphazardly fashioned life.

In this abyss, I've found myself deep within.
All truths and lies are settled here.
All toxicity is cleansed here.
Here, I'm contented to be with myself.

The shed skin of the demon lies all over the place,
Still the heart stays and not abandons this phase.
The excellence department might be skipping days of work,
But the soul cannot cease to forget this work.

Unfortunately,
This moment can't live forever.
The way out is hard, not impossible,
The hardest part being to say goodbye to this entity of light and darkness.
Our eyes speak more than our mouths,
But none of us knows what's true and what's not.

Our faces speak more than our mouths,
But none of us knows what's true and what's not.

Our hands speak more than our mouths,
But none of us knows what's true and what's not.
A door will always obstruct my path.
I'll never know what lies beyond it.
The breeze of golden opportunities,
Or the storm of continuing humdrum.
I'll never know.
The sugary luxuries,
Or the sour hardships.
I'll never know.
Might be divine,
Or disastrous.
I'll never know.
Might bring me boon,
Might leave me cursed,
I'll never know.
What's that movement?
Is there a monster lurking in that crazy world beyond this door?
I'll never know.
What's that shining?
Are the angels welcoming me into this heavenly place?
I'll never know.
I'll never know unless...
I open the unreliable door.
Strokes of red and black,
paralleled and unparalleled,
lend a feeling to the wall.
Ugly spots here and there,
of vengeful scarlet and haunting black,
send weary tears down the cheeks.
Blues, greens and others are left unnoticed,
as the man gives vibrant strokes to his piece.
The final touch becomes slow and clumsy.
Sorrows spattered on the wall,
end the painting of suffering.
...
Your magic is wearing off.
It's losing its spark and joy.
Time is slipping by.

Quit your masquerade.
Next page