feeling

Glitch in my coffee.

As I sit and sip another cup,

mourning over the loss of pure childish innocence

the lack of brightness behind these closed and boarded up windows.

it bothers me.

howyers changed the lines that trace through my hands.

they reach the boneless soul of my existence, theypour

all that is needed, but never quite as much as I want.

like a hole that void.

nameless whispers that talk and seep into my dreams.

they tell me of stories yet untold.

they are of darker nature than I would be able to swallow.

It's all biscuits and coffee this life.

you might want some tea once in a while.

some mind to juggle up your breath.

but that's all the space I was ever given.

Adapting is changing yourself.

I feel conflicted.

But this glitch in my coffee.

Stories of Long Lost Faith

Vacant eyes.
An isolated head.
She was a beautiful nightmare.
Heart full of teary-eyed half-broken dreams.
She could breathe.
Living in a plastic-packaged cheap dream.
Selling all she can buy.
Living it all.
Seeing it crumble behind her.
All the things that die.
She could live for ever and ever.
A packaged cold-storage for all the world to touch and feel.
Awfully struck brilliance.
She took everything she could.
Living by the road.
Creating a violet-red streak of fire as she passed through the town.
People could smell the light.
And everybody peaked out of their windows to see what was the bright light in the middle of the dark deep ocean.
Shooting up like an earthquake.
Tearing up the sky like a midsummer night’s dream.
Too horrendous to see it stumble.
Too brilliant to see it stand back up again and pose for the cannibalistic cameras.
The lights. Diabolic peaks of unaccounted energy burning up the atmosphere like a rocket on fire.
Violas screamed.
Sheets of paper tore themselves up.
Another one lost in the static.
Trying to scream their way through.
Never really found out what she was living for anymore.
She lept and jumped through the rabbit maze like a lone finger trying to catch up with the rest of the fanfare.
To be followed and to live life like there’s no tomorrow.

Nobody knows.
She was faith.

The Outcast

I'm back at the same place again. I don't know or care what the time is.

Lights Dim.

Society is a structure. it indoctrinates us all with what is acceptable. what is good, what is bad. And some people just zip through life stuck in their own private jungles. there is money and there is work. there is sleep and there is food. there is night and there is day. If only there was more to life. it's not anymore. We all have needs. We all have choices. and then we have mistakes. we all shake the wrong hand with the stranger in the dark. we're all afraid of our own secrets. there is fear. Deep fear. somewhere. everywhere.

the fear or losing out. the fear of missing the bus. literally and metaphorically. It begins right from the start. The family. the comparisons. the competition. who is the better. who is the worse. truth is we're all fucked up and we just all come to terms with it in our own ways. a lot of people see the world with a critical eye and curtly tell us all whats wrong with this and whats wrong with that. They're never going to see it like you do. there's no such thing as a real picture. only parts of it. the rest of is distorted, phased out, swiped clean, dusted out or destroyed. Yes, we're all a little under the sea. But we never see it like it is. yet we are all sure and proclaim war on the question of reality and faith. The sword is a double edged weapon indeed. and we're just playing cat-and-ball with a lion on slippery surface.

monkey kill. monkey see. monkey do.

what did the social pressure do to you, tiny little frog.

you just see a lot of shit when you're depressed that you can't see when you're sober and fuckful. You don't understand the outcast.

they are people who will always disappear through the backdoor. there are so many that died in vain. I daresay they were cowards. they did what they could do best. Life is a purpose. and to some people, that is all that matters. to some, much more. Some live to breathe. others breathe to live. some can't do either and torture themselves their entire lives asking themselves 'why me?'.

Did i paint a disturbing image yet? do you see past the curtain into the yellow-grained sky and the lovely wonders it bought along. did it throw itself away? did you see the bloodshed yet. did you see the cracks appear in the sky. did it all fall down on a beautiful day. Wait for the sunrise and it makes purple sense.

I just can't make sense of it all. where do the outcasts go. Did we all really forget what it feels like to be human. anymore. we're all connected to machines we're all the same robot. I wish there was a virus in the system. I would certainly sip a piece of the golden sky.

Did we learn to fly.