thanks for the toast

are the words directional?
is there a rule book?

have you seen the moon at 12 p.m.?
i know i have.

a hammer through technology,
is but a rock, a rope, and a stick.

crayon dressing,
pencil tracing.

its like being addicted to water,
but its so largely scarce.

i am sorry if my blessings annoy you,
do you want to share?

wake up

don't you see?
its all happening,
everything you thought would happen,
only before anything happened. its not understood

should have known,
a reason was not required, so this is how it is
just sit back and say, pain comforts
'hey, that's life'

trust in everything to turn for the worst,
you really can't look at things from a different angle, when its been betrayed
its not easy cause you know what hoping does,
already experienced.

you lie down to think of the worst, wasted effort
cause happiness comes from getting
whatever that is better than that thought,
and so the lowliest gift sparks fire. why isn't anything being done?

never satisfied, never receiving,
living that way, you live with disappointments,
where anyone who enters, unbelievable
stays as a predictable disappointment.

fearing the rope that binds,
o how strong it seems to be able to hold anything, why can't it stay?
yet time comes and it rots away,
you naive gullible human. you were different

already seen the mess,
still you get into in, please
knowing how the outcome will be,
yet you do it all.

don't you see its all an individual work?
no one is helping you, its futile work, need it be this way?
when you bring it up, temporary sympathy,
o a sudden desire to be apart of your life.

you can only relate with weakness, but its wanted
when its over, supposed conscience paid off,
you are left back in the dark,
only to try once more. dawn is coming soon

give it up,
its obvious, why is it different?
pointless,
as it should not have been.

bias coin

blinded hypocrite,
for hypocrites surround you,
the joy is from 'blamelessness',
when can the hole be buried?

can all this not be general,
must this be thought of as directed?
when has everything been about one thing?
so broad,
it keeps growing and experiencing,
the mind won't stop talking,
let it rant away,
who are we to stop it?

happenings

what can be done but store more inside...
when everything has been released,
something else builds up,
such a never ending process,
exhaustion but yet necessary,
what can be done but just learn to control,
learn to stopper somethings,
to wear shades during the night,
pointless effort when the sun is going to rise,
it all seem so pointless,
such a sad emotion to face,
knowing life is built up on more,
or is that itself untrue?
its such a small role,
is it not?
when it is scarred with human perception,
it looks weak and now defiled,
its just messed up with everything,
now looked upon as a burden.

with the confusion,
comes the peace i have been searching for.
with the blame,
comes the acceptance i have been asking for.
with being pressured,
comes the control of different emotions.
with being misunderstood,
comes the understanding of situations.
with all the everything,
comes getting everything.

an odd sense of having no idea,
of much uncertainty and yet,
i like it.


slkv,
wvhriv,
bvzim.

Stop

placing fear into others,
wait till the crack deepens,
let me try to mend it,
before that sledgehammer comes any closer.

please don't let that happen,
don't test the patience...
i don't want to experience it,
nor others.


deep breaths,
blood pressure.

stare back

perfection?
you think so?
what are you trying to show?
the amount of nonsense you keep bringing up.
you never learn, repeated so many times you never learn,
its plain common sense,
a simple betray of trust,
your hypocritical action speaks,
you show its all possible,
promises just pass your mind like its nothing,
you expect us to keep ours?
we do it to maintain what was created,
you look at it like its an attraction point,
do you still lack that worthless attention?
you won't ever get it,
cause you don't want to,
denial is your speciality,
fool yourself for thats the best way for you now.

its not

a mirror.

o yes, the typical scene,
you see yourself,
mirroring your hand gestures.

his hands raised,
as yours follows,
observing both hands falling.

'i don't need an image,
i am that image.'

you pick up the broken shards of glass,
to have twenty blood smeared smiles,
directing to the same thing.

what are you then?
the image of an image
made by images?

do you care?
do we care?
just live