heartache causes poetryi'm tightly wound in a sticky web. it is spun around every rib, every spine - i can't move. and maybe that's comfortable - maybe those string are my only attachments, the only thing keeping me up.why is it that poetry only flows when there's heart break? why is poetry so cruel in its way to reveal the truth?my mind tries to run, but gets nowhere without the support of myself.and when i try to run, my mind is stuck in the web.its a never ending speck of dust in this world. hiding is unavoidable.and i try to tell myself that my house in no longer in the shadow, in the corner.that my house is build in the sun where i can see it rise.but i keep crawling back.i keepdisappointingcrawling backignoring.and i lie.telling that i live on the edge and jump from memory to memory.from scrapheap to the starsbut in the end, i just lie awake at the bottom of the ocean and breathe in the salty waves. they fill my lungs and sting.in the end i befriend spineless jellyfishes, comparing my s
existi'm shaking and trembling. a soft wind transforming into spasming.the tree branches are groping my hair and shortening the length.leaving the locks behind is like spitting out your airwaves.this is about pride, not prejudice.would the world even exist then?stopno more questions.no more doubt.and then it's just me trying to find the exist.i mean,exit.holy shit i'm alive.
revelationwhat the mirror reflects is only a blanc piece of paper. waiting for people to fill it in as they like it.my words never were enough to start drawing. and they will never be a masterpiece that will humm you to sleep.the sky isn't always blue with white clouds and the automatic pilot of breathing doesn't do his job all that well. but i guess that doesn't matter if you're slipping away from attention.i trip over reality way too often and gravity can pull me down with just one look.when i land on the pavement, i scratch the skin away on my hand palms. and i will smile with a busted lip, tears soaring down my cheeks - running back to the beginning.sometimes, the jungle in my mind is dark and ominous.sometimes, cotton candy tastes like ashes.sometimes, guilt and strawberries are black.and sometimes, my heartbeat splinters apart my ribcage, leaving me inside down and upside out - wanting to scream but not wanting to erupt in a sleeping, comatosed world.a snarl erupting from deep wit