Yourself

Unconditionally, it's all you can give, all you can be and all you can do. Reciprocation is needed but sometimes, when searching for reciprocation, you only find yourself.

Sky

I stand at the edge of the platform and wait for the inevitable object moving it's way towards it's stop. Its so beautiful, the sky, the everything. The people are merely objects from my point of view with only a purpose and nothing more than striving to achieve that purpose. Some I may never see again, some I may encounter later in life but i don't know. Oh the sky is still so beautiful, if only I can be mesmerized by it tenfold. For this skyline will never be the way it is now, each second it changes. To be embracing a second of this beauty is indescribable.

Approaching the end of this destroys me, for I cannot sit in solitude and taking in the fresh scenery and the beauty of the sky.

Blending

The days have blended into each other and the nights have strung out as much as they can. My mondays have become Thursdays, my Fridays have become Tuesdays and every other day is an exact replica of the other. I no longer categorise the week into days, the weeks have turned into what I have next, what do I have due next, when am I working next, when am I at university next. What is a Friday night? What is Friday to me? It doesn't exist. I wake every morning, pondering firstly what day it is and secondly what do I have to do today.

I run by hours, minutes and seconds, not socially defined 'breaks' within intervals of 24 hours. I run by the things I have to do, not the things I am looking forward to. It has all become a blur, a never ending cycle of things to do.

Let my mind reach solitude, let my body reach peace. My brain is a source of constant activity and my body is exhausting itself. I need rest.

Unknown

We will find a place and sit, talk, laugh, maybe even cry. It'll be the ultimate path to catharsis and it will be beautiful. Nobody will matter for that time, the sky may change and the weather might chill but that won't matter to us. What will matter is that we are there with nothing academic to explicitly dissect our brains and poison it with its horrifying scent. It will be just us and our thoughts. The only thing that really affects us.

We are not alone

Let's figure it out, let's escape from this place to one we can call our own. Solve our problems, solve each others problems and lay together side by side entranced by the haze built by our own insecurities. We will sit in silence and absorb all of the intricacies around us, smile and know that we are not alone.

We'll stare up at the sky and wonder why and how, how it all got to be this way, how it all panned out the way it did. All we can do is sit and wait and ponder, but we know that we are not alone.

The afternoons will be filled with contemplation and counterfactual thinking while the ocean waits for our tides to be high. The gentle splash will be the only sound that we hear throughout while the radiant sun diminishes slowly. In comfortable silence, sitting and pondering, waiting and contemplating... We are not alone.

Soul words

I'm going to let the words seep from the speakers and melt into my ears, let them grab my soul and tear it out for the world to see. Take my soul, do what you like with it, use it, abuse it, cherish it, love it but words, please do not lose it. To lose it would lose you, and I don't want that. Oh words please be kind, take my soul to a place, but do not forget to return it, to give it back to me. I may need it some day.

Triparte

For the truth is, I am tired. I am worn. I am exhausted. I sit here, in the warmth, in the solitude of my own cave as I write this pathetic piece of prose. This pathetic piece of prose that is written on a digital screen while more digital vomit is excreted from these speakers. I am not only tired, but I am angry, an anger that I have not felt in years, an anger that has manifested itself implicitly but is now only making itself known through physical symptoms which is wearing me down. They wear me down and they wear me out.

"And it wears me out, it wears me out, it wears me out.... It wears me out....."

I'm worn, I'm torn, I'm tired. I'm sick, I'm rigid, I'm perspired.

-------

Deception is a deadly fiend, a fiend that injures ones self as well as others. It angers me when deception towards me is directed towards others, showing one's true nature. Everything that I once knew, I once cherished almost, my reasons perhaps were eliminated in a bout of insanity which I am still insane about. This pathetic piece of prose is centred around this deception again, but it wears me out and I am tired. I am so very very tired.

"Lie, lie, liar, liar you pay for your sins"

-------

I can write a mere sentence and miss out on pages of detail. I can write a paragraph and miss a crucial point. I can speak in this form for pages and pages and reach no conclusion. I can write like this and not ever reveal a piece of information that is some insight into my condition but I cannot. What a naked thing it is to let somebody into your head, to let them feel your skin through the text they have written, let them touch the fabric of your emotions that you wear as well as smell the blood of your truthfulness. Let someone embrace your emotional scars, weep at the roots of your problems and overall let your heart seep through the words to submerge someone else into you. It is scary, it is intense and I could not do it. To write in ambiguity and vagueness is my forte, so forgive me if I can never provide this to the individuals who read and absorb my writing.

"A coma might feel better than this"

Journey

So we took another adventure, similar to the one before yet with a main difference. In the carriage we sat while we absorbed the scenery. Instrument in hand, playing the song, you leaned onto me while I played.

--

The ringing woke him up, he paced himself out the door and went. Went to who knows where.

Words

His eyes were graced by the body of prose, of literature, the beauty of it, the essence of it. It overwhelmed him, it placed him in an emotional comatose for a fraction of a second. Such truthfulness and elegance of words placed in a coherent fashion that made sense to him. Made so much sense to him that he took it upon himself to inject those words, the ones that he read and were engrained into him into his own life.

Empty

Let me empty out my thoughts, my stupid thoughts, my fucking thoughts, these irritable things that have been bothering the shit out of my insides. They culminate in a fashion that is poison, that is acid, that rakes my internal organs and scars them with their putrid scent. They build up to point where my cranium is working over its capacity to contain them and only a thorough catharsis, they can get rid of.

I can't help but let them control me, let the acid be poured through and through, let my organs be scarred with its scent because this is all too difficult. It is too hard. It hurts.

Moment

Let's be brutally honest for a second. Let's be brutally honest for a moment I should say because this piece of writing will encompass much more than seconds, it will encompass a moment. A moment should be a subjective standard unit of measurement, contradictory I know but we can all pinpoint a moment, but we never know how long that moment goes for. We never know anything about that moment other than the moment itself. Again, that is a tautology but you know exactly what I mean. In that moment, nothing exists, nothing matters, nothing is there other than that moment and to be encapsulated by that moment, be entranced by that moment is nothing but a beautiful thing. This moment may be with someone or even with yourself but you know that the moment is a euphoric thing, a thing, an entity that captures a frame of time yet it is immeasurable.

In contrast, this moment can be deadly, it can be poison, it can be deceiving because within another 'moment', that moment can become the complete opposite of what you thought about the moment beforehand. A moment can hurt, it can tear a hole in yourself, not just your heart but at the essence of your own humanity.

It is surprising if we take a moment, any moment and yet they are all different from each other that encompasses a different length of 'time'. We all experience a moment within a subjective time frame yet we use it so frequently and in such a manner that it denotes a part of time in our experience in which everybody understands. A moment can be so eloquent, so... Intricate but it can leave a crater inside. A crater that may be irreparable.

Hangover

It's like a hangover without the alcohol, exhaustion without physical activity. When you trace back the memories of a moment, you reminisce while your recollection is jaded and only the good pushes itself to the forefront of the mind. To call it an emotional hangover is an understatement, an incorrect phrasing.

Electrify

The sweet pulsation of my heart beating resonating through my body, electrifying my senses, electrifying me, my feelings, my everything, my core, my soul. The shock, the jolt of this strikes my innards and places me in a coma while my mind is still awake, the ultimate torture. Sensory deprivation while the mind is active.

Scent

I walked in last night, got myself set up, ready in this unfamiliar setting and waited. A scent that I have not inhaled for a long period of time entered through my nostrils with its familiarity. Not knowing what it was, I pondered and pondered what was going on until it hit me. The realisation. It could only be described as something filled with 'past' and nothing more. It provided relief sprinkled with a smudge of anguish, but I was okay. I was okay.

I have.

Name me a reason that I haven't thought of, a figment of truth that hasn't entered my mind. Ask me about an opportunity that I haven't thought about, a direction that I haven't looked in. Ask me anything about this place, this thing that has not swam around my mind for a period of time because trust me, I have. I have.