its the morning and i wrote this here you go also coffee is good and its a windy day also i was looking for pretty stock photos and i randomly found this jolly man eating a lollipop, but it was like a series, a bloody beautiful one that needed to be in my life and i think you deserve to see it too
conquiring consuming depraving and gruelling
red clouds my sight and covers my ears
everything i try to unlearn talks in silent night
a sweet voice that lulls me to sleep behind the dumpster
where the rats come to chew on my rotten intention
a defence mechanism which knows no bounds
silences inside a throat so down-filled with hate and poison and spit
even hearing that wicked voice taunts me in my dreams
footsteps incite panic and confusion
what did i do this time?
a question asked by the weary, when hurt seems to be
never rest for that special time may come when fangs come out
Stars started to fall from the sky that night, blue green tails leaving chem-trails in the sky, reminders of loose strings and broken fragments of divinity. Flower petals patiently wait for winter, while sea green lichen grows over the past, suffocating negative energy that tried to dominate the garden of ego. Hummingbirds watch on, always buzzing with the winds of change, eager to assist in my elevation. Sunflowers double back, trying to muster every last bit of strength left to become the light. A robin is perched dutifully on a fence pole, waiting for the perfect opportunity to seize that fat worm wriggling under the dirt, a death dance worthy of an award. I twist and seize under the old skin thats grown over me, like a shield that does more damage than good. My fingers drag over the shell, that ever present shell of the past, and I feel that the time has come. Magpies fly overhead, sensing that something is about to happen. They wanted to be here for my re-birth. To cheer me on with their unique voice and wisdom. A blue feather flutters to the ground, and where it drops a flower blooms. My heart begins to pound, and a lump forms in my throat. Slowly, but surely, the skin cracks and deforms, like old plastic left out in the sun. I can finally feel the breeze again, smell the colors of a life lived blind. My hands reach out. The skin falls away, piece by piece, turning to dust as it does. It feels good to feel good. I look around with wonder. I’ve never experienced love like this before. Warmth fills up my body, a serene feel of peace, and the truth dawns on me. I’ve always been free.