Drip, drop. Splash!

Water rushing, violin strings taut, as the bow sways over them, in time with the rhythm of life flowing through. Around. Against and over the rocks in the river. The water clear and brimming with life, as the light plays its dance through the trees. Shinning, shimmering, flash! a reflection catches.

It disappears as quickly as it appeared.

The birds whistle in tune with the melody created by the strings on the bow. Everything dance and moves in time and with each other, in this world I live and just as the song finishes, this world comes to an end.

Where one ends the other starts, repeating cycle in circles, continuous, but never intersecting, just like you and I.

I dream of a hundred worlds within a room, sunlight filtering in through the sheer curtains, shelves reaching the ceiling, a book in every empty nook. I walk slowly, making my way around the room a maze of books stacked to half my height.

A piano playing softly, as the wind gracefully dances around the room, flitting the pages of open books, fluttering loose papers. The window is open and in the corner that connects the wall of windows, and the shelves, pillows and bean bags in a make shift bed.

I could spent all day here, travelling miles and universes, but still listening to the birds sing as the sun sets over the river.

White walled corner, floor sparkling pure, a warm glow colouring the corner. Colurs running frantically around the rest of the room, as the crowd gathers. Strumming strings, thumping bass, tingling hi-hat beats in harmony, softly rainning keyed piano to the hypnotic rhythm. The atmosphere heating up, clapping hands, pounding hearts. Feet start moving, one pair after another, the movements become a faster, softer, then quicker as they move to the melody.

What do yoy do when you cannot cry? When you're choking and drowning in tears but not a drop comes out. When you want to scream but the sound is trapped. When you're chained to a cold, hard fear; but do not know where the chains strat or where they end.

I'm walking through this tangled mess blinded by its force, to smile, when I want to scream, "leave me alone!" Putting on an act, because I do not know what to do. Not knowing how to answer this darkness, or how to turn on the light, I'm lost. But I have not idea as to why? Or where to start?

The tears finally come but it came because I smiled too much that my heart feels as if it has been through the shredder over and over again.

I want to stay here in this darkness, to feel this pain again and over, all the time. But I hate myself for thinking that.

You may ask why I am speaking in a paradox?

Well that is because; Pain is addictive, you want to let go and hold on tight all at once.

#Trident

Conflicting of right and wrong,

the in between?

the definte. and undefined?

the explored. the unknown?

the old and the new,

the black, the white and the grey.

Balance? or Chaos?

To kill or be killed is not the only options, I think there is another question answers to this one, to love or hate

To love:

Joker, he is one of the most interesting villains I’ve seen in a comic to this day. He is a psychopath but also a comedian. His creators have given us many sides of his story and personalities. But his psychotic obsession with chaos has always been his main persona. We think we are completely different from him and are more like Batman - the hero of the comic.

No person can make another pereon laugh without an understanding of another human being or more simply put empathy. This understanding can only come from being able to feel. To empathise emotions both good and bad. Yes he is twisted, and yes he’s killed countless innocents but he also has emotions; if anything his feelings are overwhelmingly strong and passionate. What is the trigger? what creates psychotic behaviours?

What are our thoughts when we hear psychopath?

Thoughts of danger, animals, a person with no understanding of pain. Someone who lives in a painless world therefore creating pain for others. One of the main triggers of psychotic behaviour is psychological pain, especially when it concerns someone like Joker.

If you heard a story about a boy who was forced to watch his parents being killed, while all he could do was helplessly watch, would call him a psycopath or identify with his pain. So now I ask you who is the Joker?

If something is ever too much for any of us to handle, like something too heavy to pick up, we look for another way around it, like asking for help from someone else. But in the instance of Joker he had no way around the emotions he was feeling. He didn’t know how to ask or accept help, therefore he put away the thing that made him vulnerable. His empathetic ability - to feel pain. This causes psychosis and triggers psychotic behaviours. So now what would you say? Is Joker a Villain or something else completely.

Leave your answers in the comments and tag me.

They say a four leafed is very lucky,

Extermly rare and hard to find,

Almost as if they don’t exist,

I don’t plan to look, nor have I seen one.

But I know they are real,

As the person along side you

Who you share everything with,

Your best friend, your soulmate.

Your life is like a clover,

Everyday, ordinary, common

But with them your life becomes,

Special, extraordinary, lucky.

Just as a clover becomes lucky,

With the fourth leaf.

His aura, his attitude, the mystery and rumors that surrounded him all told me to stay away. But something was off about what people said about him. I realised it that day, the day I saw those eyes. His eyes were striking, his gaze painful and crazy at once, the feeling of being stabbed over and over and over again. I had never ever seen his eyes before.

His eyes, those deep, dark brown eyes, the luring attaraction that was becoming addictive. The more I tried to forget them the more I was overwhelmed by my memory of them. The sting of being cut and bled over and over again, as the knife is pushed further in and turned, then ripped out and stabbed in again.

This time with a blunt one instead. The knife wouldn’t break through the skin easily as it was pushed in with force, each layer of skin was torn in a rippling effect. The knife finally clawed through the last layer and blood. The air smelled of it, so thick it chocked anyone in a hundred metre distance of the room. The black of the night couldn’t hide its dark burgundy glow, sleek and slithering as it pool around me. I fell to my knees, the pain of cracking bone sharply ran up my leg, to my heart, then to my brain. It gushed out like a thundering water in a waterfall. But the pain of the blunt knife didn’t stop there, the knife broke my lower ribs and came out of my back. The bulging piece of sliver metal, was then ripped back out slowly.

His eyes showed pain only that could only be described by death. I could feel it, the pain eminating off him as the rest of the this scene that had started with his eyes, played out in my head.

I screamed, my head banging, my body burning, shaking, my eyes had black spots come and go. The burning and ripping pain, agonizing all the nerves in my body. My head hit the floor but the torturingly, impaling pain, didn’t go away, rather it increased with every milli-second. The painful sensation of bone breaking and piercing the lungs, breathing heavy and haggard.

This was the pain he faced all the time and everything but his eyes hid it. His eyes were filled to the brim with that pain, but he enjoyed it. In his eyes, along with that agonizing pain he showed the enjoyment the pain brought, like he deserved it. It looked so natural in him, like it was normal to be tortured and love the torment that came with it. I could feel a pyschopathic and unbalanced aura radiating off him in huge vibrating waves. But no one else could see any of it as he hid it well behind his mask. But it was brimming right under that thin layer . Everyday there were more and more cracks in his mask, he started to show little by little the excruciating agony he lived in every moment of everyday.

Rain, thunder, lighting. Curtains dance as the rushing wind pushes through. The sound of drums beating on the roof as a light flashes. The flashes of light increase in their frequency of appearance, as the bass of the sky comes after them. The water droplets play different percussion instruments as they beat against different surfaces of the earth below. Soft chimes, rhythmic hi-hat, and sharp snares play in celebration. I lie awake, eyes closed and a smile on my face, as the soothing celebration seeps into my being; I’m happy. I drift to sleep as the celebration continues just a few steps from my open window.

The wind lovingly strokes my hair and something else attached to my body... wait! What? What else could there be other than my hair and clothes on my back.

The world is now dark; excruciating pain fills me as my skin is split, peeling back. I scream in agony, sweating as I realise I am paralysed and I can’t wake up. The pain increases becoming more and more intense. My back and my shoulders are on fire as something pulverises through the slit at my shoulder blades.

A blinding bright light, golden liquid flows out. Black liquid replaces the gold as they mix, turning sliver where the two colours meet. The thick liquid has made its way to my feet, pooling as another bright light pierces through my sink and the liquid alike.

The liquid has become hard, shell-like, my body is stiff, completely paralysed. Panic and fear have found their way to my heart as my heartbeat accelerates. The light moves down the shell and travels downward to my feet. I can feel something heavy but light on my back, extending down from my shoulder blades. There is a firm frame as well as something soft and silky. The light was now at my feet; the gold and black shell fractures. The shell falls away piece by piece revealing shining white wings.

Wait! What? Wings! How is that even possible?

The wings, my wings pulse with violent energy, I feel their energy coursing through me, begging me to set them free, to fly. I give into their begging, unfurling them; half-way through I’m jolted awake. I open my eyes and I’m back on in my room with the rain and wind outside.

The rain is still pounding on my roof, even harder than when I fell asleep. I feel a familiar sensation on my back. The sensation of wings on my back. I laugh as I remember my dream, all the while thinking it couldn’t be real. But I check anyway.

I brought my hand and felt up and down my back as my eyes nearly popped out of their sockets in surprise. I couldn’t tell if I was awake or still dreaming. I turned my head sideways to find shining white wings half unfurled beside me. They were glowing as if lit up from the inside. I was overcome with pulsing energy and my senses intensified as if I was high on adrenaline. I could feel the wind in the feathers, as the tips of my wings touched my bed covers then the walls. The roughness of the wall, the velvety feel of my quilt cover, I shivered with excitement. I could feel everything, each singular feather and everything that touched them as well as everything they touched. I was shaking violently now, as their energy was building up inside me.

Another rushing wind makes the curtains dance as they breeze past my wings, and back against the window and it tickles. I’m shuddering with a new found excitement as I come to terms with reality. My body is moving before my mind can catch up with its movement. I fall back hard onto my bed, loosing balance. Again, I try, standing very slowly this time. I fold my wings in, onto my back and slowly stand up, wobbly at first. I take a few careful steps toward my open window. I ascend off the edge of my bed onto the window’s ledge, I’m outside.

A few more steps and I will be catch myself in the downpour. I don’t care, I want to see what I can do, where I can go.

I take those steps, faster in pace. I’m cold and wet as the sky encloses me in its icy shower. The wind weaves it way through my feathers. My whole being tingles. I flex my back and spread open my wings; it was natural. I feel as if I’ve done the same thing a thousand times before. I squat then push my body up as my wings come down vertically and I’m shooting up through the air. I spread them out horizontally and they catch the wind as I glide. I beat my wings, taking me higher as I leave the ground behind. I let myself glide a few hundred meters in the air, while descending slowly as I circle in the air above my house. I’m careful as the lighting and thunder are no longer around, but I’m not fully sure if they left. I fly, glide and dance in the air, according to the beat of the rain, as my wings glow becoming more luminescent with each beating.

Memories rush past a blur, drinks, dancing and a hotel room, the heat of the sun stings my arm. I open my eyes... bad idea, flashing light blinds me without warning. I try to sit up my eyes clamped shut, but my limbs feel jelly like; as I sit up I realise I’m not the only one in the room, the bed. An arm where my head previously rested, shining black hair and the rest is mystery put in suspense by the velvety white bed covers. I pull ever so slowly as not to wake whomever my mystery stranger was. The cloud on my mystery is lifted as a friendly face was now a fully revealed. My memories hit me like a punch in the gut as they become clearer and slow down, I could understand them now. The face appears constantly in my memory’s frames, first as a stranger then a drinking partner, two rounds of tequila shots, a competition, slurred conversation, laughs too loud for my currently blasting migraine.

Two people, eight limbs entangled as we staggered up to the hotel room, one key card, one push of the door and a laughing heap on the floor inside. A strand of hair in my face, a warm hand pushes it behind my ear and our skin makes contact. An electric pulse, a lightening bolt, the temperature rises, all of a sudden the laughing comes to a stop. Two pairs of eyes immersed in one another, the depth of each blowing the other away and both our cheeks are flushed.

A hand on the waist, calloused and burning its mark across and up my back, my long fingers burn their imprints on his neck; then comes the calm before the whirlwind storm about to hit. Lips on lips, lips on the neck, a shirt unbuttoned and I'm lifted up by a strong frame, my legs clamped around his waist. My back is push against the wall and our breathes be become short gasps, as I'm dropped onto a lush, velvety surface, bouncy but soft all at once and I open my eyes to see golden brown eyes stare back at me. My arms move before I can think and I pulls him down on to me, my lips, on his. His strong arms make their way under and up my back to my head. He clumsily tugs off my hair tie as my messy bun comes undone in his hand as locks of silky, black, wavy hair finds its way out through the cracks between his fingers.

Abruptly the memories halt to a stop and my mind draws blank as the ruffling of the sheets pulls me back to the present. The sleeping face smiles as the warm sun touches his eyes ever so softly. He opens his eyes slowly; surprise lining his features then as the memories catch up a knowing smile of recognition covers his face. He sits up and faces her smiling brightly subsequently wincing as he grabs his head as she is already doing. They both stare at each other, and burst into laughter, regretting the noise they made as their heads remind them of their migraines. Yet the laughs continue.