Careful where you stand in this maze
Don’t reach out too early or stay still in the haze
Be confident of your thoughts
Be knowledgable of your black dots
Make sense of everything that needs to make sense
Listen to everything that needs to be listened to
You’re almost there.
Where am I?
Why am I here?
What am I supposed to be doing?
When will I know my purpose?
How did I get here..?
Are we all made of star ash?
Are we all made of Mars sand?
Are we all just.. nothing?
Are we all just myths risen from the sand, as he quoted?
Who are you?
Why are you reading this?
What are you asking yourself right now?
Pressure? Love? Hate?
Are you lost?
So am I.
Soft as the piano melody
whispers in your mind it perceives
little as the atom of the clouds
symphonies as old as stone.
Beautiful, life, isn’t it?
Unmeasurable vines of ash surround the death-seeking flower
It sways to the song of the wind and the music of the rain
The Earth stood still.
The skies tumbled and the stars shot in different directions
The sun nothing but a mere shine in the smokey sky.
Gravity swung the flower up into the air.
It danced as it broke away, atom by atom.
The black hole stripped it into thin air.
Nothing was left of it
But the remains of the collision.
The fire danced around; stinging my eyes,
I stare into the flame.
The dreams surfaced as the hopes stayed in disguise
That one candle, it was my aim.
I glanced nervously at the 15 candles all lit
What do I dream of? I want? I need? I wish for?
I inhaled. Tried to fill in my lungs a bit.
I couldn’t find a single open door.
Woosh. The fire evanesced.
What was it like before I knew I was nothing?
Before I knew that life was too short
Before I knew that there were certain things you couldn’t have
Before I knew that there were certain things you couldn’t do.
I don’t even know why I’m writing.
I don’t know how this would change anything.
But I still do it.
I still do things for my pleasure and only for that.
I do things for the sake of doing things.
I don’t think I’ll ever stop running.
I don’t get tired but my heart’s racing.
She was one of a kind,
The type you only read in fairy tales,
The type you only see in movies.
She breathed fire.
She spoke of poetic symphonies.
She is the exquisite piece of glass.
She shines in the darkness of pitch-black dreams.
But she has no name.
She has no identity.
She is nothing, no one, doesn’t own a soul.
She is the picture you created.
Close your eyes
I say to myself.
Close your eyes and everything will go away. Disappear.
What happens once we fall into this.. this state of unconsciousness?
What happens the second our mind decides its time to shut down.
What happens when we no longer feel anything?
What happens to our minds to create such beautiful images we call dreams?
Sleep. Sleep is the word. Sleep is the mad disease we go into when we are tired.
Tired of everything.
Tired of the world.
Tired of the people.
Tired of being you.
Tired of being tired.
It stood there, alone.
Its wings clipped,
Nothing was left of it.
Yet it still stood there, alone.
Its feathers thirsty for friction.
Hungry for the freedom every particle in it wanted.
It spoke of nostalgia, that thing,
Told of the princesses of the moon.
Its destination was nowhere.
All it wanted to do, to be,
to see, to hear,
to taste, to feel,
to eat, to drink,
Electrocuted lightning, you were.
Just a simple thought, floating above the atmosphere of the horizon.
Picking the plastic strings on a stringless guitar.
One by one.
Playing a melody without music.
Being someone without being someone.
Playing a game that isn’t a game.
Singing a song that has no notes.
Breathing. Breathing without breath. Breathing from within your soul, you breathe.
You breathe through the eyelids of your heart. The ears of your brain. The hands of your lungs. The lips of your eyes.
Protect that electrocuted thunder-like heart.
Maybe I’m mentally disabled.
Maybe I’m the villain who wants everyone dead.
Maybe I’m the supporter but I always failed.
Maybe I’m just a person in the crowd- A mere ghost.
A Crack in the ground.
A Lost tear.
A Wingless bird.
A toothless shark.
But I’m still here, alive, well, hopefully.
But I’m still breathing, dreaming, hopefully.
But I’m still believing.
But I don’t know what to believe anymore.
Every piece of the masterpiece vanished from its whole
Her words disintegrated into the depths of her soul
buried under regret, hesitation, frustation
She lived off words of humiliation
The bones in her knees tickled her skin
As though she was breaking down, even from within
She spoke clearly but low
No one heard her, not even a crow
A gashed, demolished rose
she crouched into her only leftover clothes
Night after night, she traced her fears
only to notice she had them redesigned,
polished with blood from her tears
These are the words of the broken, the shattered, the forgotten.
These are the vows of the fearful, the childish, the demons.
These, these are the voices of the unwanted, the dramatic, the soulless.
Let me introduce to you
the anti-social fool
the misunderstood truth
the time of the disadvantaged youth
unaccepted lies interfere the dreams.
Held against semi-killers and thieves
She couldn’t foresee the question
standing mid-waisted in the tension
her arms embrace the forbidden space
her steps remained uncoiled, non-traced.
Being the protoplanet around her heart,
pretending she had a brand new start
Overwhelmed with strain
transported by the subways of pain
defrosting the frozen luck,
looking supernatural, unaccepted, being the ugly duck.
Yet she was wing free and flying
Her dreams seize to live, her lies dying.
The soft wind’s wings flew across my lips as they barely touched my tongue
drying the words and unspoken truth that wanted to be sung
I no longer hear my heartbeat, nor feel it, nor want to.
The hot fires of the burned out wings rush out past my lips
Only to be the sailor of all the sunken ships
Giving in; giving up
My heartbeat returns, but I don’t want it to stop.
She lives to be, not to wish
The fear in her eyes only a sign of freedom
Her lips sacred with wisdom
Only to show you, and the whole man’s kingdom,
She is here. She is wise. She is a dreamer.
Rage against the power of awakening
She silently glided down the path of fears
testing her skill with the killer
winning the game, yet no game is a game,
she only whispered
I am here, I am wise, I am a dreamer.
Dreaming dreams drained what she foresaw
For everything around her became nothing but reality
she didn’t know reality.
She refused to be reality.
She only asked reality itself
Are you here? Are you wise? Are you a dreamer?
But all reality said was,
I am your dream.