Zmiana sposobu prezentacji
i've tried so hard
to fit this into the slot machine
but my coin is bent.
Someone offers
to lend me a different coin
-but i refuse.
i still search
for a
bent machine.
~
He was the quite type
The one who got stepped over
Left behind
Alone.
She was the wild type
The one who stepped over others
Always lonely
in her mind.
Together they were amazing
Fireworks they created
Time stood still
Consumed eternity in an instant.
Love, lost in a moment of lust
Eternity faded into darkness.
He was the guilty type
The one who hid in shadow
Leaving trust behind
A mask of sanity so carefully drawn.
(...)
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The crowd kept filling in, barely any room to breathe let alone stand. The sheer number alone confined in those small cubical joints would give jitters to outside bystanders who so very wrongly judge and mistake us for having voyeuristic pleasures, a sort of kick if you will, by standing so close to each other.
The activities that take place inside the scrawny feeble moving vehicle each second, simply put, is chaotic bliss. There’s so much to observe, so much to learn about people and habits, cultures and personalities, a plethora of emotions and quirks on display to a point of certain embarrassment even.
There’s not a lot of issues in the this world that we all agree upon unanimously except maybe for the fact that each person is different and yet the same, meaning we’re all somehow so uniquely different that it’s hard to think we all still belong to the same species; but as the saying goes, “our differences only make us stronger” is perhaps true.
A ride with strangers is probably, the best way to understand the world around you, because no amount of books or strategically collected data could ever break-even to the kind of exposure and emotions you get first hand while talking with them yourself; about politics, hotel services in the city, best places to hang out and what not. People are always buzzing with information to reveal and learn.
Every scene, every tall, short, fair, dark, ebony-eyed person has (...)
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The still autumn night
no longer sings sweet music.
No soft piano or
raindrops on my worn
rooftop,
no calm or solace.
No violent winds
creeping
through my window sill,
no hope, no promise.
We are the lost warriors
of our time.
We are broken
we are beautiful.
Suffocating.
Exhaustion slowly setting in.
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Fading, sinking, falling
into the depths of your regrets
there's nothing left but apathy.
A frail sense of indifference
at the cost of your arrogance.
Tripping over words
stumbling before you, helpless-
because you're open and
constantly dropping into the void
you've decided to take the world head-on.
...But place your hand in mine
let's attempt the impossible
and paint the flowers
with reds and crimson blushes
stained with passion
breathing life into lillies
crushed by the weight of past decays
trapped inside doors of sober bliss
we'll seek the path to dwindle in peace.
What we find will become our
perfect deluded wilderness.
(...)
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