Lines

Care este limita intre intelegere si dependenta. Daca tot ce neexploratul nostru creier produce este real sau are o importanta atunci conteaza aceasta limita. Nu mai conteaza existenta ta pe un plan. S-a mutat pe altul. Notiunile de real si ireal nu mai au nici pe departe atata importanta pentru ca totul este relativ, iar ceea ce numim noi realitate nu se ridica nici pe deprarte la inaltimile asteptarilor noastre. Acest invelis, care dicteaza atat de multe din actiunile noastre nu are nici pe departe atata importanta pe cat ii dam. Ne-a rapit atat de multe, ne-a inrobit, suntem sclavii unui adversar net inferior dar care ne-a luat prin surprindere. Poate l-am subestimat, preocupati de maretie adevarata, iar el, s-a revoltat, a profitat de o lipsa de atentie si ne-a inchis. Suntem sclavii atat de multor instincte incat deja nu mai detinem controlul. FOloseste frica si foamea si sexul ca sa ne inchida si sa ne faca sa credem ca asta e tot ce este. Ca ce ne ofera cele 5 simturi este limita. Dar ceea ce putem si ceea ce suntem cu adevarat nu se supune la nicio limita.


Si atunci ce ne scapa? Moartea? Nu... Murind ajungem in neant, pentru ca nu mai stim, am uitat in ce directie trebuie sa o luam. Trebuie sa trisam pentru a ne elibera, si intr-o zi... poate curand...

the state

I don't do it to forget about my troubles. I do it not to care about them.

There's so much comfort in the sensationfilled numbness. You understand that it really doesnt matter because for those few minutes you understand that your life is irrelevant to the universe, that your human ego is over inflated, that there are no limits because there is nothing to care about. nothing is important. being at one with everything around you. being the receptor and the interpretor without having delusions of grandeur. There is no peace or extreme calm but there is everything and nothing all at once. You sense it and you are it. You don't possess self consciousness, you are there and greatness is happening before your eyes... it always was but you were never capable of seeing it before, of accepting your true condition, the beauty of the randomness that you are, that the world experiences.

there's no one to pull the strings.Life is movement. It goes so fast and so slow that you perceive it as stillness. There is nothing but the state.

That which is hallow burns easily. I'm just shadows and old lies held together by good intentions and hope.

It's summer again. I always hated summer. The heat is too much to bare and I can't enjoy my cigarette if there's no draft around. My throat is always horse like I'm inhaling shards of glass.

I've been staring at this keyboard for so long, wishing for the right words to come, to filter the poison, to let it out. Stroking the letters always made me feel cleaner and now it seems like there's blood in my poison. I feel like I have to give up on this too and I'm vaguely and distantly terrified of what will happen if I do.

hush it's ok. Dry your eye.

Slender white finger against full pink lips. Is that a smirk, is that a compationate smile. Do you care?

How much do you like the pain? how much do you want the attention? How much are you willing to pay for it? Not this.. you're not willing to pay this much. You're not willing to pay at all. you just wanted to cheat and you're still hoping there's a way to not get caught.It's so easy.

Oh, foolish little girl who thought she could doublecross the devil. He's had more experience at it than you ever will. Did you really think your soul is yours to give away? What is he going to do with your soul? He wants your pain, your dirty thoughts, your ephemeral justifications of what you are. you're rotten enough to like it, rotten enough not want to pay the price. Pretending not to care is taking too much of your energy. Calm is a hard facade to keep together when you're falling apart and have gone past being ashamed of it. you want their sympathy and their pity cause then they'll pay attention. it's not a novel, it's not a movie.

I'm just afraid it will hurt like hell.

Train Wreck

You taste like tears and could have beens but I love a good train wreck.



Sheets all over the place, my stare all over the ceiling. Clothes on the floor, feelings at the door, we're here to have fun. Black fingernails broken by your skin, smell of nicotine in the air.

Don't hold back, I like disaster. The song at the back of my head is haunting your thoughts.

i think it, you speak it. I want it, you do it. I close my eyes, you dream.

How much for 20 pounds of pure lust, darling? How much for an ounce of logic? i'm not bargaining here, I'll pay the price. You know what, take it back. My priceless insanity is more exhilarating

taint

Taint me, I'm not innocent. I'm twisted and cruel and I'm a bitch on a regular basis.
Taint me, I'm not pure. I like it when you bite into my shoulder
Taint me, I'm not cool. I'm an explosion waiting to happen
Taint me, I don't care. the sky wouldn't be beautiful without the reds and the purples.

Try to tame me. Give me a challenge. Make me think of you. I want to think of you when you're not around. Try to keep me interested. try to fascinate me. Steal my sleep, delect my senses.

Be my poison, be my drug.

Give me something to break. Be pretty and innocent.

Be honest so I can lie to you.

Be whole so i can break you.

Be mine so I can lose you.

Be free so i can build the walls.

Be pure so i can taint you.

Waves

Sweet indifference, bathing my senses...

So maybe I'll always think of you when I smell freshly exhaled cigarette smoke. SO maybe I'll remember you when someone tells me sarcasm doesn't become me(though it does, and you were just annoyed that it was dirrected at you). And when someone tells me my skin is unbelievably white, i'll flash back to a forgotten moment. Perhaps I'll have a deja-vu while I quickly gather for my clothes from a different floor.

So maybe I'll always think of you when I see clouds. Maybe I'll remember you when I look at a strategically placed wall. Out of sight but stil dangerously public. I'll probably smile maliciously in reminiscense at the sound of innuendo being thrown around.

So maybe I'll always think of you when I see an appealing male dressed fashionably, his hands nonchalantly stuffed in his pockets and arrogance exuding from every pore. Maybe i'll also remember you when I see someone surrounded by a group of girls. Someone addicted to attention and adoration.

So maybe I'll always think of you when I see someone looking indecently good in a red sweater. And I probably will if i try to remember what got me into smoking. I'll think of you when i see carefree confidence and hear someone with a smart mouth handing acid wit around like it was candy on holloween. Cruelty and beauty.

So maybe I'll think of you when I see purple on my skin, or when I'll love seeing it. And when I want to save someone, and when I want to kill them at the same time. I'll remember you when i'll drink too much, smoke too much, laugh too much, snark too much. When I'll be a bitch, when i'll be a devil, when I'll be a pagan, when I'll love the sin, when I'll stab a godess.

But aside from the maybe's there are certainties. So few and much more concrete because of their limited amount. I know water leaves its mark, but no single wave could ever sratch the surface.

In the dead of the night

She was so socially active it astounded him at times. She would throw her hair, arch her back and laugh whole heartedly at the jokes. She would be interested in what everyone had to say, a kind word and sympathetic advise following every confesion. She would down the shots and smoke the cigarettes, she would dance and taste the music. The cloths were spotless, the attitude was fresh. Sweet irony sometimes tainted her words. So interesting, so smart, so beautiful.

But his fascination had nothing to do with that outgoing side of her. It was in the dead of the night that his sight was offered the show it craved.

Wrapped in a sheat, thinking he was sleeping off their exhaustion, she would open the window and light one of her long cigarettes. Her mind on things he’d never know, her skin speaking a language he will never understand. She would watch the stars, she would feel the ground, she would hear the velvet texture of the air. Words would never exit her smoke drowned lips. Her eyes, green pools, would allude to depths unexplored. Those were the moments she spent with her secrets, with her scars… The woman smoking at that window was one he didn’t know. She was not social, she was not smiling. She was the present. Appreciating how the nicotine helped her think better, her mask off, her features unguarded but unrevealing.

He would go back to sleep, street lights caressing his eyelids.