Spencer lives in constant fear
He lives in constant premature rejection
not by others, but by himself
He decides for everything
decides for everyone
as he had failed to decide before
"You do not want a part of me," he says
"My red is dirty," he believes
"My red corrupt."
Spencer lives in dissonace
Completely aware of how it rushes
in his veins; he continues to live in vain
Hoping to find someone as damaged, as baggaged as he is
and then he damages himself
Because all the philosophies and all the support
fail to deliver him from himself
and in the red-lit corners of the world ...Read more
In your mind exists the infinite
That which you can only pour into art
that can only be understood by same minds
It cries out of you
You turn it alive
The wyverns overhead
that you witness in constant
battle, as you're cartographing tunnels you escape to
Or at least you try
You write to empower
but you destroy
You convince yourself you're an ally when you're not
An outsider in a city more obsessed with other paths
Other jobs, more valuable
than what your mind-store produce
You starve, physically and mentally
as you consider yourself
a faux artist
You're haunted by your past
Haunted by your future: the one that will be and the one you have lost
Haunted by regrets and mistakes
By memories of people you let go and those who you actively hurt,
How many lives have you,
in your most subtle way, ruined
and just how much the thought of them
don't affect you the least.
You drown your cocktails
with pills that make you numb
Romanticize the loneliness like music to your muse
Married to the dream you lost yourself into
Only to wake up unsmiling, dazed; you're confused.
You keep reminding yourself
that everybody hurts the way you hurt ...Read more
I had this friend once. Her name was Lily. She was a year senior to me in college. We used to attend the same church, used to eat lunch together, smiled whenever we saw one another at the hallways, talked about our faith and life and the sort. The little things.
Lily committed suicide eight years ago. Gun to her head. Lily took her own life and, for the love of god, I still don't know why. The thing is, I don't think anybody ever will.
Lily was a quiet girl. She was always calm, collected; her front suggesting she had her life together; her best foot forward; the perfect facade.
W ...Read more
Anarchy of the mind.
I wrote some welcome-to-my-blog remarks, which you can read here.