chapter 37 : This world you must've crossed

I have to make a decision that I am honestly not very sure about as to how much do I really want it. How much do I want it enough to take this leap and throw myself into the great unknown? But how much do we really want something to fight for nowadays? I am running out of time. You asked if I could do it. So here's my answer now, I could. And I would, pack up and leave with no strings attached, as nothing is holding me back. Why? Because you said;

"It is what we feel that makes the choice. Not the choice to what we feel."

I think I'll start a new life.
I think I'll start it over.
Where no one knows my name.
I'm tired of the weather.
I think I'll get a lover.
I think that I'm just tired.
I think I need a new town, to leave this all behind.
I think I need a sunrise; I'm tired of the sunset.
I hear it's nice in the summer, some snow would be nice.
You don't know me, you don't even care.

i think i almost came to save you. you know that point of weakness where you want something to happen. And each time you say it you know exactly what it really means. i want "you" to happen and nothing else. i was this close in offering one of my wings to you so that you could fly well i spiral down into the nothingness again. but this time. it was different. something else happened. but you didn't.

chapter 36 : sane

and maybe just maybe, i have this sick psychotic elatedness while reading your misery. it isn't a retribution i am reading about, well i am not exactly sure anymore. but the thing is, your words of pain soothes certain scars and wounds. i dare say, this is good. but i can't say if it is enough. you will lose this battle. and i will still be standing here to watch it all. this sick cycle spinning around? do you see it? it has been spinning since everything started. since everyone crossed paths. i am insanely inhumanly selfish to the extent that i would rather that no one ends up with anything and that if i have to take the fall, everyone else will take the fall, along with the burnt bridges that i would had personally set on fire. don't get me wrong, i am not asking for anything or anyone or any consolation or any pity. save it. because i rather be run down by the train than empathy over something that cannot be fathomed. how long would i keep this up? not too sure. it is perfecly safe in this realm of sanity. i think i will stay here for the moment.

chapter 35 : miss you love.

Millionaire say
Got a big shot deal
And thrown it all away but
But I'm not too sure
How I'm supposed to feel
Or what I'm supposed to say
But I'm not, not sure,
Not too sure how it feels
To handle every day
And I miss you love

Make room for the prey
'Cause I'm coming in
With what I wanna say but
It's gonna hurt
And I love the pain
A breeding ground for hate but...

I'm not, not sure,
Not too sure how it feels
To handle everyday
Like the one that just past
In the crowds of all the people

Remember today
I've no respect for you
And I miss you love
And I miss you love

I love the way you love
But I hate the way
I'm supposed to love you back

It's just a fad
Part of the teen, teenage angst brigade and
I'm not, not sure,
Not too sure how it feels
To handle everyday
Like the one that just past
In the crowds of all the people

I love the way you love
But I hate the way
I'm suppose to love you back.

over thinking.

At some point in time you really wish you could be shot. Or rather the act of it sounds good enough. The whole sick cycle of what everyone is chasing after seems pretty clear to me, that no one will ever get what they want in the end. So I comfort myself with the thought that having nothing is good enough. But what is enough? What is ever enough? Maybe it is the same logic, that the act of saying “it is enough” sounds good enough.

Today I saw this child standing at the escalator which was going in the opposite direction, knowing that it is wrong she still stood there. And even when her mother reprimanded her over her actions she still stood there. Does she not speak for all of us? That it is in our nature to do the exact opposite of logic? We challenge the simple things in life, doing the exact opposite, doing what the mainstream think is taboo, doing what we already know is bad. I guess all of us inherited the same tendency from Eve who defied God in the Garden of Eden over the forbidden fruit. In the present day, we burn ourselves to know that it is hot. We drink till we get drunk and make an awful mess of ourselves knowing that our body cannot take it. We sleep with the person we love knowing that when the morning comes he/she would never stay, would never have a future with you, and would never be with you. We smoke knowing that it kills our insides. We get stuck in time and memory waiting for someone that will never know we still exist, that will never know we are still here waiting, that will never know we have not forgotten, that will never know we would do anything for just another season, that will never know we still want them back.

Childlike acts in an adult.
Aren’t we?
We never grow up.
We just grow old.

"And yes. For the record I have done it again.
If only I could tell you what I have been reading and that the only song playing on repeat is causing me to cry. But you would never know and you wouldn't even give a damn about it."

pas du tout.

Bang Bang.

Chapter 34 : Visceral

We are an amazing species.
We bleed to know we are alive and we live.
I believe that our physical body has a mind of its own, it knows when and how it will fall apart, and as it splits it sends a warning to tell you that you cannot endure any longer.

There will be a time where you slide into a depression to weep for your dying self. Somehow the physical body knows and senses the count down of your biological clock to death and it reacts, it weeps unknowingly for this impending arrival of death. I call it the “emotional physical self” reacting.

Why do I keep writing? This is the only way I can leave a part of me in time. It is the only way I can freeze time into these writings, it is the only way to remind others and myself that I was here in time.

I was here.
And I am not doing too good.

Chapter 33 : peculiar

I wanted to write and put together something that I can own… where only these words belong to me. It is an incomplete composition. But it is a start… after taking a long break.

Never known Never own

Since everyone is living with their past
Why can’t I stay there too?
It is safe it is where no one else can come in
The only place where you and I exist

In this looping space I created
I don’t have to worry if I am not good enough

This is my imaginary story
with no end because I control it
This is a script that lost its cast
with scenes made tangible through the heart

To play it back when it started
as one that falls away and parts
Those arms that held the very being
exist today
She is awake.

laconism

The weather tonight sure reflects my thoughts. It is calming to stand in the rain; it reminds me that I am still here. I would have walked all the way back home in the rain, but I recalled a vision; I was walking and the sky gave way to a beam of light, it was the most beautiful phenomenon I have ever seen. But it hit me, as I felt my legs gave way and I was falling. That interval, that moment, I felt I was home.

Try keeping quiet the whole day; it drives people around you crazy. This is what you do if you want to inflict frustration and pain to another fellow human; silence and distance best trick in the book. I have done it and the only hypothesis derived; my silence causes panic. Trust me I didn’t do it on purpose. Sometimes it just gets too loud in my head making it tricky to filter the voices within. I hate seclusion but I want to be alone. Does it make sense?

The truth is I hear voices; therefore my trusty pen and note pad are always near so that I can let these voices take the shape of words. Maybe only now can I provide an explanation to my eccentric writings and the way I compose my songs. Not that I take pleasure in the lack of understanding from what others feel in what I write. It sure makes me uneasy when I cannot be understood. It has been a long while since I wrote a song and I cannot let myself slip again, to use an old memory when the new is not potent enough to aid me in my next creation.

I've never known, and never owned you.

Chapter 32 : retrace

You didn't do anything, your memory did.

All I have are locked in these words. Those immortal nights....those magnificent nights that anyone would kill to take that place.

It was a dream that came true, but not through. Dreams only take the evanescent form of reality from the repressed mind. The beauty of it? When you wake it is gone.

Those arms that held the very being which exists today, those hands that emit warmth and propensity to the crying heart, those lips that monopolize the essence of life and core of the soul.

This is a script that lost its cast with scenes made tangible through the heart.

Where are you.