Imploringly wishing on the stars, the moon, and the sun.

Sunday, September 11, 2011

"Secret Stars and the Man On The Moon"

there's this nostalgic feeling that erupts when he watches it snow and he thinks that it's stupid.

stupid because it makes him feel weak, confused, and hurt. he doesn't know why or what it is. the void in his body becomes bigger, the pain becomes more prominent.

empty. he feels completely and utterly empty. his shaking fingertips can no longer grasp the seams, the strings, the meaning. it's too far gone or too late and frankly, he concludes, he can't bring himself to care.

he thinks about the moon, the stars, and how they never shine as bright as they should. how the sun never lives up to its glory. how love is just like oxygen because as quick as you breathe it in, you exhale it out.

its there and then its not.

not when it has better things to be doing. like giving people false hopes, lying to itself that it does in fact exist when in reality its just a figment of their imagination, their as in those who refuse to see reality.

no matter, he thinks bitterly, no matter how much you coat pills with sugar, they're still bitter in the end. the truth always wins.

and he wants to be lightened from the burden he feels, from the weight that is drowning him. the weight that in nestled deep into his veins and into his heart. the weight, the burden of knowing.

but there is nothing to take away when he has nothing to give.

so he has nothing to lose but himself. and he is sure that he no longer has himself either. his soul was sold off along with his rational thought and dreams, once upon a time.

he is left with just a body. A body without purpose. like paper without words, lyrics without a melody, perfection without flaw, like him without him (in all his beauty and glory).

he’s drowning in a sense. in all that he’s created, willed away, wanted, thought about, cherished.


he's sinking. because it’s all too heavy and it won't be long before he's buried beneath the ocean of a life he only existed in but never got to live.

“i want my life back.” he whispers out to the night sky, voice tired, broken.

he sits in silence and wants to cry when he hears no response save for the sound of waves crashing onto already wet sand. with every push and shove, ebbing along with them his sanity.

no, he corrects, he lost that a long while back too.

Tuesday, March 29, 2011

"let's paint the picture of the perfect place—

they've got it better then, when anyone's told you
am i bright enough to shine in your spaces?
between the noise you hear, and the sounds you like,
are we just sinking the ocean of faces?"

Monday, March 28, 2011

"Cause In The End, No One Loses Or Wins. The Story Begins Again And Again."

You know, you’re always saying these things, about faith, love, and respect, but you have none of it, do you know that? You’re full of nothing but shit.