Those are epic feelings, those are real. It was like the start of everything. The first box of this boardgame. Fast phases. Slow kisses. Things were wrong it seemed. A dawn came as soon as the rise were present. The pages of our books came flowing down the stream, written there are emotions I have sowed. Written by the hand soaked from pain and regrets. Once more it writes. Reminiscing every solemn moments. Once more it will write a hundred pain. Drenched in the liquid of despair, the darkness cloaks once more. It was never surprise, in fact it embraces me like their very own. I looked up and smiled, the most painful smile, the best they admire, the most they collect. I have seen myself once more and the mirror shouts in grief. It never calmed, continuing to burn. I have seen those eyes before and they have seen myself as well. A spark started to ignite, it was not a hopeful light but a spark for a brand new start. This time another cliff, another step, without the people my heart met.
We pretend a lot. Most of our times, I guess. Well it kind of feels right when you’re there, but the aftershock it feels you’re not there and shouldn’t have. I don’t know about you guys, but I’ve done this and trust me, it’s never worth to pretend and hide feelings.
What if your pretends suddenly become “you” instead of being just a part of yourself? Someday you’ll look through that mirror and see the things that are not you, you’ll see a stranger. You’ll never know for sure how to reverse the process, let go of the things, the people and everything else that have been attached to the lies painted by your hands. I did. I pretended. And I sit there wishing I shouldn’t have.
Farewell. Should I caress the beauty of goodbye? The nothingness it holds and uncertain bows. I kind of can’t figure out how this must go but I’m sure that it has to be the right time. Now. People may hold me back but nothing beats the morning drive, the sun shines upon me and it knows above all that now is the time. The clouds look down and they know. They have to be.
There was a fall. The greatest of them all. The air felt regrettable but it’s the surface that took it all. I was free and…
A rope tied at the ceiling, hangs patiently for a victim. Some bothered kid screams in his room, hopeless. Each tears sucks the living daylight out of him. You could hear a parade of drums, a cascade of sparks all at once. You could hear his pain but not his story. Some demon grabs his shoulder and sought the last resort. The drums went louder and louder. His heartbeat slowly failing. What to do? What to do? He kept asking himself but all he know now is that his body is not his to control. The last thing he can remember is some rope tied at the ceiling, hangs patiently for him.
A rope tied at the ceiling, hangs patiently for a victim. Some bothered kid screams in his room, hopeless. Each tears sucks the living daylight out of him. You could hear a parade of drums, a cascade of sparks all at once. You could hear his pain but not his story. Some demon grabs his shoulder and sought the last resort. The drums went louder and louder. His heartbeat slowly failing. What to do? What to do? He kept asking himself but all he know now is that his body is not his to control. The last thing he can remember is some rope tied at the ceiling, hangs patiently for him.
I’d write a poem about a heartbreak cause I seem to be expert experiencing it. I write for pain and pain writes to me frequently. Pain is very updated in my life more than my friends. This solitude is gravely enhancing this feeling. Even though I twitch every now and then because of it, I didn’t say I like it. This is where I get extreme energy to cheer people up and inspire them. Without this pain, I’m nothing but a loathe bag of happiness and arrogance.
Bruises
When I was a young boy my father took me into the city. When I was young I get bruises from running clumsily in the neighborhood. It was of course painful. I’ll go home crying. I’ll sit at the couch cleaning the bruise alone. I remember myself biting my pillow everytime I drop an amount of alcohol to it.Back then little pains are tolerable. You could walk. You can proceed playing afterwards. You may not be as energetic as before but because inside you still want to play, you still participate even though you can feel the grasp of pain.
I can say adult bruises are not that different. You can feel a twitch of pain inside, a dragon of pain killing your normal lame life routines but you can still stand. A drop of alcohol and for a moment you forget. In the morning the anesthesia fades and your back to the painful situation. What we lost is that child inside of us, the child who despite the pain, fills himself/herself with determination to proceed and not get stuck at a broken page.
Letter to an illusion,
Dear you,
Why do you always have to come? Why can’t reality just come by my side so I don’t have to get these questions inside my head. I always have to dream. I always have to create a wall of illusion and assumptions. I’m tired of you. When will you ever leave by my side? I had it. You had already eaten my sense of the physical world. I end up watching high above, grasping the impossible, the unreachable.
The lines are untouchable. The thoughts are unfathomable. Maybe it’s time to leave your coat which at first I also created. A mistake of me inventing you in my life. I believed in your illusions that they can protect me but rather not. They seem to haunt me down. Now it’s time to destroy you and feel the real pain. Thanks. From here you’re no more.
Love,
Hoping for reality
