DreamLifeBluePoerty

north wind whispers dormant penitent halls parallax over terrestrial falls niche the rainstorm wetting a coat common the endoscope severing throats peace winters christmas alike whispers sourly west crucible night terminal greed basks terminal livers fortunate foulmouthedness frothing givers wise choice to tow heights morose yawning mornings late key to the server favor would give wished it all crawling but how would we live sponge cakes adrenaline masks torn breaker penultimate gaps ii. but life is a thrill not being mourned spike toward grave water and woodlands far bark synapse rhythm pervasive and true ultraviolet destiny, eternal

Not old gods waking, Nor angels soaring. Not an eagle in the sky. Nor a mutt on the ground. No breathing to be found here, not one trace of locomotion. Never a heart beating, rare if ever a brain pulsing. Not crawling, tugging, pulling, dragging, running, singing, smiling, living, vibrance as an alien entity. (No, not even a slug inching along the ground.) Yet, something timeless, massless, invisible, unheard, untouched, undreamed, (and oh so easily breakable.) Yet something exists.

I'm working on something in my car. I'm starting to understand the long, winding journey that took me to where I am. When I began, I was aimless. I wondered if I was simply breaking something. I wondered whether I was merely arranging colored lights in a pretty fashion. But finally, the math hit me like a lightning bolt, and I understood what I was creating. Just then, a friend entered the garage. "What are you making?" they asked. "It's a Flux Capacitor. It's what makes time travel possible," I said proudly. "Nonsense," they replied. "It's just a bunch of glass tubes and lighting. You're not going to invent anything if you keep making toys

If you were here If you were here I would hold you tight If you were here I would tuck you in and kiss you goodnight If you were here I would sing you a lullaby But since you are not I sing it to the sky

I can´t stand this boiling sensation of frustration everyday in and out. All these senseless people spurting out so much useless, mindless shit that I can´t stand it. I can´t stand sitting in the train and hearing people gossip. I can´t stand walking around and getting people looking at me because they can´t seem to mind their own fucking business. I can´t stand this self proclaimed ego that they carry around with the biggest delusional pride I´ve seen. I can´t stand people complaining about the most useless shit there is. I´ve grown past it, I´ve seen the bigger picture, I let go. The i

I´m a poet. I´m a musician. I´m a brother. I´m a lover. and I´m a son. THIS DOESN`T MEAN SHIT. You can call me black, you can call me different you can keep categorizing yourself and people into these little boxes all day long. But all you´re doing is making us drift further away with your egoistical selfish need to be UNIQUE. Everybody is special if they choose to grow and develop by staying true to you. But these days it´s just ego, pride and delusion. The fucking disgusting slime that flies out of the mouths of people makes me sick. Show how special you are by being WHO you ARE. Instead of telling

I play you each and every day. And your strings bring harmony into my life. There is no bigger privilege than having such a beauty that creates life in the simple motion of moving your fingers. You are my Mary Jane. Even when the notes don't sound clean. Even when the strings break in between. Even when the sound you sing is full of hurt. You are mine. And only mine to behold.  

I share as much love for writing as I share for music. Both divine arts. Both such beautiful outlets for emotion. Music caresses and soothes the soul. It helps the growth and understanding of emotion in a way I cannot explain. Music dances with emotions of anger, despair and happiness. Such a beautiful gift. Such a beautiful gift...

I have my own sense of justice. People are afraid of it. People are too keen on the imaginary fictive borders society and their government has put up for them. The law they made is broken. The law I feel is too extreme. The injustice of people feeling mightier than others. Intimidating the weak. Taking advantage of the weak. Killing the weak. It is disgusting. My answer for these people. Erase them from this world. For they do not belong here. For their being does not sing with color. But only with destruction. Their soul is different from ours. And you will feel it when their empty eyes stare into yours.

I live with the knowledge of the energy around me. The energy in my voice echoes through air into your mind. Right now as you are reading this the echoes of a voice surge through the halls of your consciousness. The universe speaks in frequencies. It is why I love music. Frequencies that caress the mind. Everything speaks. Everything moves. Everything makes their own music. Even the ink on my paper. You only need to listen to the language they speak.