Some days… Yes, some days I see the stars shine and reveal the beauty, the mystery of the universe. Masked by the sun on days where I am back on Earth, seeing the 7 wonders and beyond. Reflections upon waters so deep that I am in awe even amidst the gems shown of a person.
I don’t believe in imagery. Wait, I can explain. It’s not the weight gained as words become drained. Flooding out through tones, dancing to reach your senses. Grabbing you in a merry go round of emotions. Locked hand in hand as if our hearts connected, reaching understanding. My soul is my own, though it is
Trace my scars and see the oceans of battles that waged upon my bare bones. Echoes of yesterday hidden beneath surfaces that mask the battlefield. They penetrate past my skin, forming ripples of time. My history is marked by these soft, white lines, the pink moons, and rivers. Behold and see me for who I
Loving you isn’t a chore. There are no hidden, petty words that remain barren without meaning. No secret intentions are yet to be discovered. I wish for you to know. Let justice strike as I speak the honest truth. Lend me your hand as my heart beats upon your warm touch. I have not known
There will always be days that feel like seconds and others that feel like years. Stretched time met with a paradox of echoes. The memories that form seem to become entrenched by our choices. Laid waste to plague us within the desolate reaches that try to find solace in barren parts of your mind. I
Unbearing warmth, frigid in cold grasp. Masked sensations of what once was. Silent touch, naked and bare. Desolate echoes of quivering lips, shaken beyond repair. Sharp tracing of textures upon any trace shown. Clashing of sensations to find one grow numb. Frozen in time, it hopes to pull you in close. The endless cold, revealing
The dark sides coming. No sign of the sun but the light has one running. Hands up as the screams heard as bodies dropping. Years on knees teaching one to stand. Sands of time play the day. Rays banned as humanity remains lowkey. Stress overflowing, the heart fleeting. Dreaming of blood flowing, pumping green potions.
Carried thoughts escaping intertwined fingers. Buried in the oceans of gold and warmth. The dunes stretching for miles in leagues of glistening tones. Lost memories in search for a way to survive by keeping one in such a state. Howling echoes of yesterday marching through the gusts of winds. Finding one’s skin pierced by such
It was not the moment she first kissed me, feeling her breath against mine as we parted. It was not the spark as if electricity surged through our fingertips when we held hands, interlocked. It was not the moment her warmth when she hugged me allowed me to truly feel the word home be defined
Experiment through experience. The catalyst of infinite configurations. Transmutation of limitations. A fusion of nuclear imagination. Congelation of the inhabitation of the mind’s ablation. Separation from humanities subjection. Syndrome properly diagnosed. Art is the source of the antidote. While love is guiding us home. Bringing us to new heights through flights of delight. Seeing with