i Am. i Am. i Am. words to justify my life...

Listen? ゙( ́□`* )ノ♪

If I seem far away - I am.

There are stretches when I cannot linger in my own body.

I am not dead -

Just burrowed under

Swallowed screams.

29 plays

Decrocher les Etoiles - Keren Ann & Benjamin Biolay

137 plays

Anya Marina - Whatever You Like

Adultery -

What is it, really, 

If not a label, 

Sticking tags of condemnation 

On unsuspecting


Is it the drunkard boy, 

Inebriated to the point where

Sensation wins -

Emerging victorious over

Promised feelings of 


Is it the lonely girl

Who, a world apart from her love, 

Gives in to temptation’s

Taunting hand? 

Adultery - 

A word painted in scarlet, 

Forever branding you for 


Vacuous vacuums leech their

Ravenous mouths’ upon mine,

Sucking hopeful air from out

My lungs which now

Collapse in on

Themselves, holding but

Hope’s faint flicker

That some day soon


They’ll rise.


My famished being

Clings perhaps a touch

Too tightly to other

Vacant wandering souls,

Who so happen to

Pass me by.


Yet simultaneously, I lurk

Alone crouching in the

Shadows, on hands and

Knees, in the depths

Of my darkened,




With every unique

Packaged soul that

 I have tread upon connecting

Somewhere amidst our paths,

Or meeting in the middle  

My heart inflates at the

Mere prospect of

Possible promise,

Just like buoyant

Round balloons

Drink in flowing helium


But the helium flow


Far past its needed point,

Filling up this heart balloon to the point

Of popped explosion.


Although the bursting bubbles

May sear within and burn,

I’d rather be blown

To pieces,

Than left incomplete only

Half filled not using

All the air.


For when you meet another

Who births, in you, a flame  

You want to ride your entangled

Journey out,

To see which way

Your linking souls were headed.


But if, like me, you find                            

Yourself at once


Of oxygen;

If that tentative twinkling tie

Is severed at its start

You’ll find yourself there,

Left alone

To drown within the piling

Questions pouring down

Your mind

To strive in apprehension to

Glimpse truth in that

Looping, leering

Mirror and peek at

Your potential, but left

To wonder where you would

Have landed.


And so you’ll clasp shut the book

Of your shattered “perfect match, 

As the only soul yours had

Spoken to in such a

Short time

Span, turns his back

Away from you  

Walking out with apparent

Little care.


And such was the

Great weight

Of your souls’ entwining

Dance, that you cannot even

Stew in sour steaming air,

Pinning parts on

Voodoo dolls plotting

Your revenge;

You’ll find yourself

Unable to sink in

Hateful thoughts of

Rejected bitter

Swords for the one

Whose heart so

Captured yours is far

Worse off

Than you.


You’ll find yourself left,

Standing there,

In a suddenly vast wide room

Of vapor, and praying to that

Mother source, from where

We all were born  

Pleading to her evasive ear in

Dejected sobs

And wailing weeps

Of woe,

To steer him through his drudging darkness, guiding him

To the light in hopes that some day

Prismatic rays

Will illuminate his cinder world.


Thus is the cruel nature

Of this puppeteered life

Act that whence you should

Stumble upon a soul for whom

You care for more than


You’ll find yourself left with no

Recognition, whilst he lives

His life

Just for himself which,


He should leaving

You on desolate lands,

With stripped and

Barren hands

Somberly walking

Away, with nothing

To show for

The magnanimous force


Your care. 

Just like brightly bursting fireworks
Continuously shooting off
In all directions everywhere,
Explosions in the air;
Our lives are marked by revelations,
Piling one upon the other.

Each new blinding shiny insight
transforms into a trailing
at the dawning of each day, where
new encounters and
life experiences unite and
join together, while
ripping veils off needed nightly

With each impression, ideas birth
and our souls become themselves;
growing closer, by the second,
to who we
re meant to be.

re all important, every one,
destined for a purpose,
which unbeknownst amongst ourselves
and hiding in the shadows,
slowly peers its jewel-encrusted
around each corner,
where deluded eyes glimpse
perfect clarity.

Trauma cuts right
through the heart,
tainting purity -
leaving scars as proof of
battle, and haunting

Though trauma is a serrated
knife that
with little warning,
time and love can
heal its scabs, leaving but
remembered stains.

For just as bliss can lead to
tears, injuries can set off
smiles - guiding
all us,
one by one,
through fated stops and
destinations -
closing in on wisdom
sweet relief, which brews in
pure divinity.

Though I would not
again each
woe I
ve past endured,
d not delete each
harsh affliction from
the make-up of
my history.

For all I know within my mind and
hold inside
my heart, would shift with each
erased incident, and
I would not
be me.

Light is born in darkness,
which sleeps,
in peace,
at night -
blackness threatens sunny days,
looming constantly - its
watching eyes sit,
biding time, to
swallow up the

s all connected, like
linking chains,
bending and shifting
spells out the nature of the
universal source,
which wheels around, a
perfect circle, that
lurks in
bouncing mirrors of

My body does not

Belong to


It owns my

Caged in soul,

Always needing punishment for

Filling up the air, when

Others could be there.


Binding me on

Earthly planes,

Limited by time

And space.

My body feeds off

Me like the

Vampire’s rabid

Teeth, devouring its



I slice its skin, setting free

Crimson life


I slash it open

And slit it patterned  

Revealing to the world

The evil

Inside me.


So all I get is well


Asked and

Begged of me,

Monsters’ eyes strip

Me bare

Taking me

All in.

Pausing with a

Greedy grin,

As hair stand on

My spine.

Its devilish

Friend stands

Up straight

Erect and

Ready for the plunge.


My arms enwrap me,

Fueled by a remaining

Shred of dignity

The monster crouches,

Like a watchful cat,

Idly waiting to pounce on

It’s victim.

I stand alone, an open


Waiting to be


Walking on eggshells; or rather,


Clear fangs pierce through these calloused


Ebb and flow

Slow, yet encroachingly steady

These omnipresent teeth forever linger,

Hauntingly effervescent,

Looming above and

Seeping in from below.

It is my fate, my punishment, my

Destiny my life sentence

To bear the sorrows of all those who have

Passed before,


And tomorrow,

To contain within me all the world’s


Clasped shut inside

And tightly secured

Bounded thunder trapped inside

Shatterproof glass,

Which, really, means little,

Perhaps nothing at all

For thunder, it builds, it rumbles

And rolls

Until it grows so strong that facts

Are defied,

Reality questioned,

Science proven a lie.

For the glass will break

Some day soon,

Until its insatiable thirst is quenched

At last

My life sits static, like a fork,

A complete and utter cliché,

It branches apart

Down conflicting paths,

Biding its time, as I make up my mind

Which one to take.


Like a fork, it serves a purpose

Unbeknownst to younger eyes,

Only known by learned ones

Or those too shaped to hear.


I stand in pieces, torn and jagged,

Ricocheting back and forth

Amidst the possibilities.


This rip inside me

That idly ponders  

Weighs down my heard so

My feet can no longer



And so my forking life

Sits frozen,

Completely immobile,

Not going


theme by Curly Tweets.