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Fuck it, it’s like Snapchat

All I do is see the photo, nobody cares how I react,

it’s all about stacking days and not questioning the fact

that every snap is just a way to get out of our stupid day

that’s just full of people who are full of problems,

which put strain upon us,

and make us say some honest curses and bad words

aimed towards this stupid and bad world,

which make is say “It’s really not worth

putting in the effort to make it feel better,

to make us hope it might get better...”

When it can’t. It’s all delusions.

It’s all just us trying to fool us 

into thinking we’re meant to be,

into thinking we can see 

“how we will affect the future 

that we build ourselves”. You see,

nothing really matters,

it’s all a gimmick of the mind,

it’s just loneliness and sadness

and friends are hard to find.

Just like Snapchat, our life, it goes away

after just a couple of seconds 

of some people seeing your day.

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It comes with night

The sun, it sets,

It's final rays die out.

Violet and black

Fill my room throughout.

They hide inside

The darkness of the corners-

The demons

Bring my nightly torment.

My sweating chest

Can hardly hold my heart.

It aches in pain

As memories corrupt.

I am my mind,

It's full of hellish horrors.

I can no more

Sleep between these walls.

Now I lay,

I await the brake of dawn.

For only light

Can save my soul for now.

Until night comes...

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It’s getting hard to breathe

I sit in my room, peering out the window, waiting for hope.

I lie in my bed, thoughts flood in my head, I’m trying to cope.

I can’t find a place, my mind is a race, why do i even try?

Nobody will see my tearless tears, would it help if i die?

[graytw-blog]

Reblog this and you’ll get a weird, random ask

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The crossroad

The music guided my steps as i was making my way home. The warmth of the late autumn sunset felt nice on my back. The sky is overflowing with colours - the burning orange goes into a light pink, which then blooms into a mysterious shade of purple that fades into the inky darkness of the forthcoming night.  I was lost in my headphones, I watched but I didn’t see, it was one of those rare moments that appeared spontaneously in my stressful agenda which made it easy for me to deal with everyone and everything. 

I have found it interesting how these moments bring with them an aura of realization, as i always find myself being able to look at things from a different angle, most likely because of the calmness of my brain which unfortunately does not come to me often. The only thing i need is something to shift my gaze in order for my mind to shift the angle itself...

I look both ways as I approach the crossroad, just like all of the previous times, however this is different somehow. I have a feeling, a very slight feeling, that there is something here, on this crossroad, which needs and wants to be noticed by me. By then I have almost crossed the road. I step onto the sidewalk and i am just about to align with the corner of the nearby wall, when seemingly at random, perhaps maybe by instinct, I look to my left and there I see it.

I stop in my pace, captivated by this amazing sensation - a feeling, unlike the ones I’m used to. It fills my entire body, it stops my mind, i can’t think and i can’t realize what it is. My whole being has stopped, so has everything besides me. I don’t hear the music anymore, there are no cars to obstruct my gaze and it feels like i am looking at a still image, a painting. I only see the road, stretching as far as my short-sighted eyes can see. I see the wondrous sunset colours, the pavement, the wall, old and falling apart... however, that is not all.

As my brain slowly begins to function after this sudden halt, I realize why this seemingly normal and mundane road has captured me now. It is the road she came down all those months ago. It is the very same paved road which i had to pass almost every day to see her or after seeing her. The hot afternoon sun has shone upon me so many times, i remember now the view of all those magical sunsets that i watched as I made my way down this very same pavement, all were the same, but to me they were different, every single one was gazed upon with a different feeling, listening to a different song, thinking of a different moment... All of this was hitting me at once. I was stupefied. Has so much really happened? Are there so many memories of this? It had all ended, i ended it, but still the sunset is there and the road is there, the same cracked sidewalk, the same wall, the same view... 

I slowly started to feel the fog come over my mind. The same fog of sadness that had clouded my feeling the past months. I really did end it. It really ended. Despite what i thought, it really did. It was over, and now i suddenly missed it. There were so many moments of pure joy, joy that i had never before in my lonely life felt, so many things i would die for, just to feel them again one more time. All gone in the fog of the past...

But then there is a spark, a quick jab of a new blazing feeling, it grew fast and wild and it started to overcome the fog. Yes, it passed, all of those wonderful and amazing memories are good, but they are surely never coming back. This road carries all of this, but it is not the way i am going to go. I am now living my present, I won’t go down my past, the past is only for the dead and I am living now. 

I brake my trans and i hide behind the corner. The sun sets with the paved road, the memories are still there, but i am not. I walk now the new path, one, which leads to the future.

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We have to be nasty

or else we won’t be able 

to stand up for ourselves.

We have to be alone

whenever we fight

or else the meaning’s gone.

Don’t turn the other cheek

because then they’ll see

that you’re actually soft.

Nobody likes the likable,

nobody feels for those

who cannot fight alone.

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We thank people profusely just for doing what any human with a functioning heart should do. It’s a sad day when you realize it’s because you are encountering it less in your interactions.

Let’s shock the world with  encouragement and empathy (via dolores-hazy)

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To the friend i never had

It burdens me to think why we don’t belong.

It’s hard to see you and not to smile along.

Life has it’s plot and this was just a twist

but sadly it’s one of those, which won’t be fixed.

I’m too rugged, too lost in the need for love,

you never really cared about me, that’s all.

And that is why we will never talk again,

it’s not never hugs and smiles in the bitter end.

But still it stands - a whole year has passed

before all our friendship came to pass.

All that’s left now is a handful of memories

which haunt the look in your eyes that stare at me

every time we come to pass

by each other. No more laughs.

No more fake hugs, no more gafs.

It’s hard to see a dead man being dead,

but it’s even harder to see the yellow corpse again.

And again, and again, every time you feel the same -

Pain, as it slowly makes it’s way

from your heart and to your brain

and makes you want to join the corpse, for pain

is only for the living. I wan’t to be dead

so that I don’t feel the everlasting dread

of what has been buried.

In memory it lives

The friendship for which

I only wished.

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I use others poetry as distorted mirrors, twisted springboards, to propel myself into my own writing because of everything theirs does not represent about me. I can read for pleasure of course, and I enjoy looking through others fingertips and pulse, to broaden my knowledge of things I have yet to gain understanding through experiencing. It is just that some seem too forced, extreme, unrealistic. I do not want to hear of letting your skin burn so that you brand everyone who dares touch except the love who will stay a lifetime. It doesn’t sit right with my view of life and the world and how best to perceive. Though I am not saying that it is not valid for you. I want sentences in streams that burble on and on like the excited torrent of words of urgent stories that friends tell each other. I want hopeful, optimistic promises that link our small lives to the infinity we are born from and the infinite chances we have within them. I want hurt, broken passages, whose commas are gulped back tears and whose eventual periods release my tensed shoulders in shared pity. Words that dance with life and sentences that make me cry and passages that cause me to go and keep changing the world.

(via potter-on-my-wayward-doctor)

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The last light

As i lay in my grave, 

awaiting my casket cover,

under the layered fog,

i was a peaceful cadaver,

I didn’t move, no shudder,

no frowns or faces, 

no need for braces,

I didn’t need to bother,

I felt a warmth on my chest.

yes, the dead can’t feel,

but it was warming my breast

and the light was real.

A frightened, thin and white

ray of light

had made it trough the fog.

And it happily shone onto me,

unknowingly,

childishly, of fear knowing not.

My time was ending, my cover ready

to be lowered forever on my face.

But this light, it smiled,

this light - it was wild,

and it brought my final warmth and smile.

[graytw-blog]

Gloves

All you do is try to appease

Sugar coat everything trying to please

Be real

Be original

Be something with substance

Instead if this toxic hypocrisy

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Break it

I think I should, but I couldn't.

I know I can, but I wouldn't.

(It's not all about me)

This dream is toxic,

it kills me slowly -

the fire had just began to grow.

It's time to chocke it out.

It's time to close it down -

the heart that just began to beat.

The pain is here again.

I greet it as a friend.

At least it helps me write these lines.

"It's for the best", I know,

"It's not the end", of course,

I will "Get over it!" in time.

My soul is dead anyways.

The fog it sets in my gaze.

Just get it over with.

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From fear to sadness

When the shadow of bones dawns upon my floor

it smites me with fright as I can’t decide where to hide.

My hair it flairs in despair for bare scare strikes me there-

in the heart. The clad with sad days are to start.

I fear the memories, I fear the broken heart

but they both push forth the grayness of my senseless art.

In scare i jump, I wish to feel fear no more

but all I manage is a voiceless scream, no more.

It’s been months, more are bound to follow.

I am sorry but I just can’t help but feel hollow.

I/You tell myself/me “What’s the big deal?”.

But only I know how it is to feel

without her, lacking her presence,

I can’t put love no more in my cold gray sentence.

She took it all with her, she left none behind

and now I live with an empty hole inside.

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Music tag

Sooo it's a few days later, I've just done so many things (and I forgot a bit), but still - thank you @shared-pleasures-and-pain for tagging me!

Rules: put your music on shuffle and you write down the first ten songs and then you tag twenty people.

(Writers - Use a soundtrack for your writing/WIP/OC if you have one!)

Naja:

1. Twenty One Pilots - House of Gold;

2. Post Malone - Broken Whiskey Glass;

3. G-Eazy - Rebel;

4. Twenty One Pilots - Message Man;

5. BMTH - True Friends;

6. BTS - I Need You;

7. Panic! at the Disco - LA Divotee;

8. Post Malone - I Fall Apart;

9. Melanie Martínez - Mrs. Potato Head;

10. Twenty One Pilots - Holding Onto You;

Now I tag : @krispy-b @theoutcastsays

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Curse

The silence it builds, my mind, it yealds

a constant memory, of us in every

single situation I face.

I love with you, I die with you,

I really need(ed) some space.

You were always there, now you always stare

from my reflection, a curse, I reckon,

that haunts me all the time.

I cannot grow out of this mould

I only wish to die.

Can you leave my soul, can you just go,

leave me be, I don't want to see

your face I know so well.

Help me forget what I regret-

rid me of this spell.

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The spring storm

Tap, tap, tap… the raindrops fell onto the evestrough above. Their sound was the only thing you could hear, while in the background stood a gray landscape, framed by my widow. It reminds of that one afternoon…

As the gusts of wind blew, the rain fell in waves, the tapping started off gently, sharply rising in frequency before fading back. The view from my window was a painting, whose artist had suddenly felt the touch of inspiration on the face of calmness – the grass of my garden was a deep, cool green, as if distilled from the pine needles of the evergreen forests, which gives one the feeling of freshness, of clear though and of icy air entering your body, for the gray sky the artist dipped his brush into his melancholy and the heaviest of colors appeared on the canvas. Where they should meet there was no horizon, but a blurry line, a blend of green and gray watercolor. The same picture is burned into my eyelids, as it hurts every time I see it. It was on such a picturesque day that I ended it all…

The mysterious thin threads of rain, wrist-high, was all I could see of it. The lines contrasted on the grass. All of the coolness of nature was infused in this work of art, which no man can produce. It is only for the gods of the olden times to have the wisdom to create such things for the simple man to look at and ponder “How is this possible?”. I too pondered how you were possible… and you weren’t. I had been too foolish to see that your rain was to stop. You came in the spring, a sudden storm that took me by surprise… I was away from my home, my shelter, when you struck with the force of a hailstorm, enormous gray clouds, water and ice in tandem hitting against my face, knocking on my evestrough, braking the windows of my house and blowing all away with the force of your wind… and then it all stopped. You were merely a spring storm, you came and you went.

This rain, however, is endless, eternal. It is the rain of sadness, which has come over my soul. A delicate autumn rain. Just like that afternoon, when the storm had faded and you were just gone…

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To be frank

I am just a boy of the teenage variety. My words they are fresh out the oven, boiling hot and radiating the heat of my young heart, which still can feel and as it has not yet hardened into stone-cold metal cardioid that life makes it. I am told that I shouldn’t write, that I need to cool down first, for only then I can think straight and write one word not in two lines in order to emphasize it, only then can I fit into the predetermined molds of literature that the readers of old want to see, only then can i conform to the status quo of high literature that people expect. But to be frank, I don’t want to care. My rhymes are rugged and my handwriting is sloppy. My ideas are shallow and I do not use blank verse. I am the okapi of literature, the strangest beast, the one which threads it’s own path, it is unique, but at the cost of loneliness. I know that and i choose to be this. I wish not to be any different from what I am, I don’t hope for glamour and fame, I don’t want many people to see my works. My mission is to protect myself from the drought of mind and heart that is brought upon by years of living, I must live until I die and not to live death as a senseless corpse, trudging a monotonous life of self-hatred and stress, but to die living, breathing, feeling. Perhaps I might need to imagine that my ordinary days are special and that I live a life of constant change, but so be it. I will rise one day atop a rooftop and I will imagine that i spread my wings and that with mighty whips I ascend into the air for my soul is free and it will fly. They will only find the body of the crazy person who lived down the street.