Hurricane

I'm calling a hurricane, being in the eye of the storm willing to feel the pain, trying to reach the other side dead or alive.

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With everything blown away, to the end of the present, trying to put the puzzle together. Lost in the whole image, just a mess trying to make sense. With the piece lost through space, time and logic. I'm getting more and more aggressive, hurt, willing to sacrifice everything for someone, or myself. I stand on the edge watching over my past, present and future. For one last time, determined to stop making sense of everything. Learning no more, just putting everything in practice. I've practiced enough, waited too long.

It will show, it will pay off or maybe it won't. But as the storm is revolving around me, I can feel the power within me to make it stop. The puzzle is nothing more than your fantasy of past and future, a wall that doesn't let you go beyond. Once everything you tried to make sense of is gone. Nothing more will hold me back. This promise that everything will change is burning. Keep your head down, reading a story with every step looking around you. Take the experience that is in you, start doing something. Doesn't matter what, take your time and you'll find yourself somewhere in the best dream you've ever had.

Everyone has a dream, while the hurricane takes everything from you, just like the past does not reclaim it because it is yours anyway. Past, present and future are just ideas just to make you aware of every mistake. There was and will be, experience that doesn't come with thinking it, but doing it. When nothing, you have nothing to rely on, you still have yourself to make it go. But a battle wakes up in you the choice of missing on feelings, relationships, pain or determination is powerful but with something missing.

Being on the edge makes you think when it is all this gonna stop or when you will finally break? With every minute of being alone, going through all the pain, the hell, this stress with everything. All that's trying to pull you to their sides as nothing remains for you. Falling apart, realizing you started a long time ago to die from the inside out, that look in your eyes that turns the bright blue into the darkest eyes people ever saw. With nothing to dream off, you were slowly dying through the years, the animal you became somewhere in there is a spark that needs to be brought back the life, but until then... The only thing that remains inside you is this black phoenix burning inside. It gives you wings to walk in this world with a look that spears the hearts of people, bringing nightmares to life, burning deep into the soul.

You never knew what you'd become, never knowing if there is a spark in you anymore, feeling useless. But more and more powerful as you die and everything fades into the darkness, feeding it making it stronger. Waiting for the right moment, for the end of the hurricane to burst out and make your way through this dark world to light it up...

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Originally Published: 19/10/2012

Midnight Rain

I stand alone in the midnight rain, smoking a cigarette, looking for hope, for a star, for anything to hold on.

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I find myself trapped. On the only road I ever know, lost through smoke, closed minds, ignorance and looking for something. Close to the edge, everywhere I walk. Everywhere I look memories haunt me. It's not that I can't remember everything, it's that I can't forget. There are secrets, everyone has them, times you just can't forget. And it's not about love or a person, it's about you and what changed you. What made you who you are now, your fears, your wrongs and rights. Searching and searching, trying everything to survive, you become a puppet of the ones that observe us, and control us with illusion of freedom between closed walls.

The rain keeps falling, cleaning the earth. Yet we still manage to do it wrong, to make mistakes that continue to chase us down through life. Alone we search for someone, we try by any means necessary to make a change. Find someone to hold onto, or put our faith in. But we disintegrate with every moment we keep doing everything we do. Nothing will pulls of from these depths, but helping ourselves and everything that is around us. Now while we still can, we should change, we should take charge, blame and responsibility. Because we keep ourselves in the same place, no future, no happiness. Only mistakes. But until that day...

The clock turns 1 minute after midnight, the rain stops. As I enter a new day. My cigarette burns out. The sky is still dark, becoming darker with every second that passes. With the blunt cold wind blowing, I see myself in the reflection of a window. I become confused as I forget who I really am, who I was, what I accomplished. As I smiled, seeing my reflection scared of the past, present and future. I do not know what I should do, but one thing is for sure... Breaking the habit may help, Even if it's in believing in the lie I've built. But I won't wait for something, because I was the one that was supposed to save myself. Yet I see myself falling deeper and deeper.

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Originally published on 17.10.2012

Portrait (IV)

The End

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Thus everything bleeds.

"When it all ends abruptly."

"Well..."

"What can you do? There's nothing you can really say..."

"Weird, I would say."

"Horror, the way I would describe it."

"Horror?"

"Yeah."

"Really?"

"Yeah... I think that would be it's appropriate designation. It fits really well too."

"But is it?"

"Oh... I mean, probably."

"Why am I discussing this? It makes no sense either way, it's something you have to live with. Something that now is a part of you."

"I don't know, honestly."

"It's not like there's anything wrong with this, you know? It's simply weird. And I... Well... You know?"

"Know what?"

"The limitations bother me, there's something absurd about all of this. Backwards and forwards. It like knowing..."

"Hmm..."

"I don't know..."

"But it would make sense, wouldn't it? Trying to define oneself on what they are, you know?"

"Who am I then? What defines me? It's senseless. It's frustrating."

"You can't define anything, can you? We can barely brush the essence of anything. It's not something we can comprehend. But control..."

"But that wouldn't be a problem. Definitions, essences, the problem is the thought. When you can't control it."

"It is a problem when we can't grasp something, it always was, it always will be. These are the things that make us feel at ease."

"I think..."

"You think?"

"It's really something else, a colorful spectrum of this world, so we don't have to fear it. Do we? We don't."

"I don't know me. No matter the line I'm on, I don't know. It's stressful. It's something..."

"Do you know you? I don't know you... I can't know you. No matter how I look at it, a picture may be a thousand words, but it isn't anything."

"Who knows... I mean who knows me? What is all this? The thoughts, the mess, the entropy, the optimistic pessimism of this. Poetic..."

"This is how it all started, right?"

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The End. Now read it from here on up.

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Colors (III)

It bleeds...

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Blue, brown and green. One hundred and eight shades of everything. Sky high, but down low. Heart beating and no flow. Basic and simplistic, absolutely fantastic.

Where do you get these ideas?

I wish I knew how it worked.

Where do you get these ideas?

I ask myself that every day.

The unholy cliche of the dreams I've been having, the pallets I've been using, the taint that this is.

But what's the point?

I keep asking this too.

I absolutely hate it. The narrative I've created, the problems that I have, the stupidity I dwell on. I can't stand it. I wish I knew how.

It's confusing...

I know it is.

It's profuse.

I know it isn't. All I'm trying to do is save my skin by pretending I have something to do.

That's sad.

I've been thinking that too. I've been thinking a lot... When the abundance is beautiful, but it's drowning in the shadow of others. I have to ask, who is this for? Red, blue and violet, who goes and riots? I see nothing but gray, letting life live just in my imagination.

It's sad.

And when you can't see yourself, no more. When you know that everything will be gone to dust, sooner or later. It gets sadder.

But then again...

Yes? I'm listening.

Do you know what makes sense? The fact that you can still do it, a brush, a sketch, combined with all that pain, it goes a long way.

A brush, a sketch, combined with all that pain, you die, there's nothing, there's nobody... The long way that it goes, doesn't make sense. When after you're gone, there's no one left to ask you a why or how.

But pink, yellow and a little bit mellow, is what it’s about.

In a way, maybe. But when you have a rainbow, why would you go for something that's far below? While you can create wonders with just white, black, yellow and brown, why just limit yourself to what you have?

You forget the pink, red, and all the shades to come.

Yes, but I am none of them. I am me, and I don't want to be less.

That's pretentious, arrogant and stupid.

Then so be it, when it's all said and done, we're going where there are no shades, no brushes or sketches to be drawn. If I could change it, I would, but it's not that simple.

"What was I doing? I spaced out there... What was I doing?"

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Brush (II)

I draw a line somewhere...

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It's weird... Like I did this.

Hmm...

I don't remember when.

Or why, right?

Right...

Like a dream...

No, a nightmare.

Yes, that's it, that's what it was. All this time it was just a nightmare, a thing that I couldn't escape. Yet I forgot about it.

But why?

But why?

I don't understand, I mean, look at me... Why is this, this? Why am I asking these questions?

We all have problems, like that chip on your shoulder. Chip, chip, chip, look at me, I'm a chip. And now what? We're all problems bundled as humanitarian cases... Wild, dumb and dumber...

Who did this offend? Whose problem is it anyway?

Mine?

No? Yes? Yours... Yes, yours... It should be...

Should it be? I have no idea... This is rubbish, when there's nothing to do, nothing to control, nothing to save anything.

Then why am I asking this? What's the point?

Point.

Yet I'm rambling.

What was my point?

A problem, there has to be a problem, an idea, a something.

Gripping. Tight. Suffocating. Thought provoking. Something different. Something magical.

So, can I get some help? I would really appreciate some help. I mean, you can hear it, can't you? That voice.

What does it say?

What does it say? Hmm...

I say...

I said... I mean... There is something wrong.

That's the problem... Isn't it? I get confused easily. If it's not right, it's wrong, it's not for me, it's not for you, and if it's for someone, then is it wrong? I don't get it anymore. Why do I care? Why does anyone care? How do we care? When it doesn't have anything to do with any of us... Yet it impacts us all... It's stupid.

Extremely...

Extreme! That's it... Like everyone's the worst, the best, the Hitler, the savior of the world. It's tiring...

I'm sleepy...

But the nightmares...

Yes, the nightmares...

Which is worse?

Worse?

Between the open eyes or the closed ones...

Worse... Are both, equally... 

Dread... That's the word I was looking for. Looming for...

Artistic, again...

Idiotic, maybe. There is no artistry involved in my...

My? Where was I going with this? I had something to say... Like it was wrong. Like it bothered me when I thought... Think, say, do?

Ha! Do... Wrong, again.

I know...

It's weird...

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Sketch (I)

I draw upon blood...

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It was once, I think... Where I was really pleased with what I had become. A rare moment... We all have them, I think... 

But, that's not the point. Because I have a question, why is this happening? 

I have no idea, so if you can enlighten me... Please, do so. If you want context, I can give you that too... You see, I have this pain in my back. It really aches, and I don't know what it says. It's something else. Something like a cross, a burden, memories, regrets or dementia. At this point I'm not sure either. 

As I was saying, there is something that draws me in pins, holds me tight and has me in limbo. Poetic, right? It's this mind thing that keeps bothering me again... 

I have a lapsus, how do you call it? 

Doesn't matter. Talking about poetry, it's something along the lines of a poem. Or a tragedy... Not sure though. 

But back to the thing I was complaining about... 

I don't have an answer. 

When you, yes...

You... 

When you are a nothing, doesn't that make me nothing too? And if you're anything, that means... I'm something too. Right? 

No, that's not how it should work... Right? 

It's weird, I know... 

But, back to my problem... 

If I... 

No... 

That... 

No... 

It won't work... 

That's not how it works...

But isn't it beautiful?

I suppose... Suppose, right?

Hmm... Maybe, if it wants to be. If...

Funny word...

Truly... Like... That mind thing...

Smart? Yeah... Smart...

Funny, indeed... But...

Intelligence...

Yes, yes... Funnier... That is funnier... Intelligence... Aren't I intelligent?

Oh...

Hmm...

What was I talking about? What was I about?

I can't remember...

Oh, my mind thing... Right...

But which was it, again?

The pain... That's how you say it... I think...

Pain... Right... That limbo thing too...

Limbo... Paradox?

Hypocrisy?

Mr. Intelligent over here...

I need an answer...

Maybe that's the answer...

Those maybes...

Can't stand them...

Right... Well, whatever... I need the help...

It was once, I think...

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