With and Without

{For I have not been more aesthetically inclined as I have once been before, to create from the mind that I can greatly harvest and expand in both lines of words, and beauty of the mind}

{I’d like to rot in my own hell-hole of despair, but to do that is to be selfish, for the people who I have intimate ties with will only mirror my sadness into their souls, therefore I cannot simply die off in a blissful oblivion that I’ve tried countless times to achieve. What else is there to do then? To just create a more lively picture of my abnormal taste in morbidity to quench the thirst of my shaky equilibrium? To use my willingness to destruct my life with spontaneous decisions that’ll only make me feel more alive?}

{I’ve realized my way of breathing, where I need a constant connection of both physical and introvert needs, a unity of mind, heart, and soul with another. I’ve lived two separate lives since I was young, both public and in secrecy. A secret life plays out away from the eyes of others, where no one will know, or ever find the truth. I lived two lives to withstand the chaos in both, to change and alter- skipping back and forth between them each. I almost felt as if I were different people, of same mind, but different happiness. My public life consists of herbs and medications to keep my mind from wondering into a suicide hole. My secrecy consists of joyous euphoria, content, and love. I become more intact with my human emotions, I become more self-aware, because the choices I make there will only change my appearance and mind in the public eyes. Everything becomes a blur to me, I never listen closely enough, I never hear all the words, I’m just merely walking around in a shell that I’ve contracted so far within, no one’s seen my real happiness before, and in my real happiness- it seems that I can only awaken that when I’m with my beloved. I was cursed upon this burden ever since I gave my first bits of love to a wolf that only tore my heart out, drugged me with “fairy-tale” love, and feasted upon my very life. So life away from my key holder is needless to say a life that I wish not be in. I’ll be okay, I tell myself, but all those words are just postponing the small disaster I let myself fall in. I wound myself internally with the thoughts that never cease to end… And I make myself my own poison, a poison flowing in my mind that leaks from half-conscious thoughts that never seem to go away, I can only suppress it more with smoke brought by many drugs, and my cold hands running along…}


Selfless and Cold Food

Only a loaf of bread and fish the giver had,

Walking down a sandy beach, spotting a man hunched over,

His hunger tearing through his empty stomach.

The giver that had food bent down, offering everything he had.

The hungry man accepted gratefully, but as he realized as the giver walked away,

He has taken all the other man’s food,

So he went to him quickly,

“Please take half of what you’ve given me.”

And he gave half back, the man accepted but only returned everything he was given.

The hungry man was confused, “I cannot accept such an offer from you, please share, for you are clearly hungry as I, and there’s enough here for us.”

“Every time you give, I will accept, but will only give it back to you.”

Feeling as if the giver wanted him to take more then he, the hungry man split the half meal once again, offering it to him.

He accepted, but gave it back to him once again.

“Please do not give me all of your bread or fish,” the hungry man begged, wanting to feel as if he did not receive charity, only receiving from a friend.

“Eat all, for a friend will only give everything he has,” the giver said.

But the humble, hungry man replied, “And a friend will only give back to enjoy each others plentiful meal, still accepting and giving.”


I only feel regret when I can’t force a smile on my face to show the others that it’ll be ok.

I only feel remorse when I don’t have the enthusiasm to encourage and guide others. 

I only feel Death as it neared me everyday- longing for me to pick up any object to impale myself. But I refuse to let that feeling disrupt my mental state of being. 

I only feel weakness when the ones I love are destined to die, and I can’t save them from that.

I only feel insecure when my heart is laid vulnerable on the gillotine, letting another hold the rope of the blade. 

I only feel love when I’m in a state of bliss- only the oblivious able to enjoy the happiness that they create for themselves…

I only feel emotions when others reach out to me, making me feel once connected again,

But not for long. 

A Knight of Bronze Armor

I can’t help but faintly cry of how this used to be,

Goofy times held within perishable walls that were willing to be broken,

For tender words were said and not a glance backward,

Whenever our different ways had been separated by a brick wall, I tried to seek in, but only ran into cold rock, and confusion of where to continue…

I hid my pain and guilt within unanswered words and brief mistaken affairs, to try to hide the emotion I’ve once felt for you.

I cry now for you’ve expressed your sadness to me, and I’ve only held my true smile when I’m with my beloved.

You’re code will never be unlocked, because you’ve destroyed it already, I try to feel your once warm embrace in my arms, but I was left with an unfinished goodbye and  a cold, breaking heart.

No Thing

Her transparent body floats, taking hold of what is now,

She tilts her head, walking into a haze, million dirty ways,

She jumps, pointing her toes, her elegance to be gained in precise movement,

The dead beat of the song pulsing through the room,

You can’t see the tears that she’s cried behind the mask,

She tried to forget the horror, but it’ll never leave for the past has resurrected,

The waves, yea, they drag her down, down below an abyss everyone forgets when you die,

But to die, she said, would be an untold story,

For Death is an untold story.

Inertia Broken

I felt a sharp uneasy pain whenever I was left barren of inspiration, but now I’ve found my way of writing again, an aspiring stranger.

She’s held my fascination for many days, igniting my voice through words once again when I hazily watched her stroll down the crowded streets. Her pastel, violet curly hair first intrigued me into thinking that this woman might share the same elements and common interests as me. But now her eyes allured me, and the soft hint of red on her lips. Yes, her attributes are breathtaking to any eye that looks onto this subtle- mysterious creature,

But I am of more interest in the way she talks, the way her perspective has changed within time, the past that had morphed her into how she is now. I want to obtain the knowledge of her curves and edges, hide her secrets away in my closed mind- where she won’t doubt my loyalty and devotion to her.

Her aura is captivating and powerful, a dignified presence that commands only for the worthy. Yet she knows it or not, she has completely captivated me in the mysteries of her unspoken words and resplendent style.

My need of knowing who she is is too great, I must leave this desk and wander the streets, to find her- and offer the simplest of hello’s.


Little words escape my head, as I could not find the sense of recognition of putting a sentence together; I felt as if the story would be absent of pure emotion, for my heart was not correctly aligned with my mind as I’ve written. If one were to extract the words I so desperately needed to release my mind of under duress, I don’t believe I could form a single sentence, letting them become aware how this absurd feeling I possess inhabits the spiritual anger of ten angry lions. I can not simply dare put false sensory into a short tale without imagining the situation of circumstance myself, or feeling of some connection to each single piece of literary work.

It angers me, this torpor that entangles my mind of weak thoughts, oh, where had my mind go? Oh, where had the time go?