Don’t judge
It is hard to say why I write. I'm really not sure.
Maybe I just write because I'm bored
or for no reason at all.
So Which type am I?
do I write for myself or do I write for others?
Both, I would say,
I write for fun,
but I also write for other's entertainment.
In conclusion, who knows?
Not me.
Ecstasy
The feeling is stupidly euphoric
pumping glee through my veins
spurting out of my mouth in a harsh cackle.
I stumble from the scene, consumed by my drunkenness.
Through my blurry vision, I look at the weapon resing in my palm.
covered in blood, blood that I have spilled.
I grip the knife with a passion,
filled with the ecstasy of murder,
and scream at the top of my lungs.
All the rage, joy, pleasure, and guilt is released in a single outburst of emotion.
I hear sirens in the distance, and smile.
"let them come," I mumble.
Hatred
It is not but a combination of chemicals, reactions and interactions.
but no chemicals have done so much damage.
no acid or toxic gas compares to the damage inflicted by hatred,
no chemical burn damages as much as the scarring of hatred.
Hatred is a drug. Invoking pleasure in the user,
but permanently damaging them.
Clouding their senses and judgement,
and inflicting pain on those unfortunate to stumble into it's path.
Hatred is an abyss of blackness, consuming whatever enters it.
Any spark of kindness is engulfed by the void of hatred,
only taken as an excuse for more hatred, more rancor.
Bitter is the taste of kindness in the pallet of hate.
We see it as a nusiance,
a simple mosquito buzzing quietly in the night.
But we can't see into the mosquito.
We can't assume that the mosquito is harmless,
because we won't find out that that mosquito was carrying malaria until it is too late.
Cascades
I dream of water.
Cascades of fluid pouring over cliff after cliff in their unceasing journey
always traveling downhill, always to the ocean.
I dream of air.
Cascades of invisible material swirling in itricate patterns and shapes
never to be seen, always moving.
Cascading, flowing, shifting, spiraling
puffing, changing, traveling, switching.
I dream of cascades. Cascades of fluid,
never stopping.
Always Cascading.
The need to write
Filled with the need to express my complex emotions,
eaten away by my own thoughts.
Needing an outlet,
something that will listen to all of my jumbled thoughts and emotions,
and silently understand and appreciate them.
To have a an outlet like that,
an outlet that will understand and still appriciate all of the things I need to say.
So when I find an outlet,
that does all of those things,
I know that I have found something special.
Falling
I am falling,
through the complexeties and subtleties of society's constuctions,
that infinite cobweb of imagination,
they become a blur, compounded in thousands of intricate droplets of emotion,
presenting their individual spark of conciousness before fading away in a blur of light.
I glimpse each one only for a fraction of a second,
those tiny sparkles of life, never to be seen again.
Lost in the abyss of life,
billions passing fading out of existence.
And I am still falling, towards an infinite destiny.
I am falling.
Wired
A screen.
Lost and never infringing memories,
reflected in specs of color millions wide and long.
Ive seen men lose themselves in a screen.
its terrible brilliance which draws them in
wrings them out with their promise of loght,
leaves them a broken shell without a soul.
Are we all but lost
in this matrix of ideology,
voices so loud and so many
that they drown each other out
and no one can be heard.
Am i too,
trapped in my square reality
thinking myself connected to others through a cold, systematic code,
when i am really,
more than ever,
alone in a room without light
without sound
and without love.