Glass walls.

The mind. The birth of understanding and the dread that follows after.

everyday i step into this room broken down. yet faking worldy pleasures in my head to everyone else, letting my sheer arrogance rule me. and in my own eyes i greet you from the other side of the shadows. with strangers meddling with my mind, don't get too close. my material skin, disintegrates like the surface of the still river when a leaf floats onto it. don't hurt me please.

for i only exist because you say i do.

yes. yes yes yes. i am not dead and have yet to die, but i am living in my self as an entity within an entity hoping my outer side does not fall into thorned bushes that might poison the already decaying flesh that needs no more damage. my mind the candle within four glassed walls. and i, looking from the outside, wondering what miracle is sustaining the dancing flame for so long now.

it was gradual.

the way it slipped from my grasp and my conscience. they way it dissipated whenever i looked at my forlorn reflection in the broken shards. the way it mellowed to a whisper whenever i took calculated steps towards a realm in time and space to disappear. secretly i longed for the day which is unbecoming of my smile. constantly thinking of nothing. and how i wished i was nothing. the entity that is me, a waste of space existant in a place that will eventually crumble. so i finally know, and its at its end.

i have lost the desire, to desire.

it is when the city sleeps, that my peace is disturbed and my mind is at ease. viewing the world differently, but assuredly, everytime my pupils seem to lose their capabilities. at the cost of my ignorance, my mind struggles urging me.

pleading to me to step out
crawl out
shivering at the implosion
of the madness

move up dear one.
move my love.
don't just leave yet.

you have yet to seek or see me. you have yet to feel my presence and with that, you have yet to transcend this assumed impenetrable barrier you have created in place of, whicle searching for me. why do you force submission so easily. don't give up on me my love. i have not given up on you. why do you choose to exist seperately from me when the answers you seek so vehemently, i have only for you. accept me like i will you, and see with your eyes my experience. i guarantee you answers, and more chaos. since by yourself you have long left the state of ignorance the moment you were affected by the true nature of being enlightenend, you have already chosen this path. i only promise you a deeper understanding, not seclusion or serenity.

for that, you have you.

Ad infinitum.

why does the street lamp glow a dimmer shade, each time i stroll past an old memory lurking in the depths of the abyss that commands my every move. the swirling mystery that inhabits my innermost desires that punctuate endless speeches and infinitely vacates space for ubiquitous pictures that mockingly flash before my glistening eyes. the nonchalant gazing through the cold steel grills of the window seem to numb me more than it did, now that i am far more lost in my precociousness; far too blinded by sweet smelling roses every thursday night. the dried petals a reminder of what used to be; luscious silken skin underneath my sense of touch forcing smile after smile; simultaneously, taking my thoughts far from beguile.

why do dry rose petals retain their colour?

it does not really matter. for i am happy they have colour at all, clinging onto dried hopes and decaying memoirs of magnanimity and mellow moaning while my fingers do more than just feed my incessant needs for attention. intent on following subtle shivers to the point of sentient feelings that set of seemingly limitless amounts of sensual salaciousness and amorous aphrodisia, willingly partaken in of course. giving basic thought very little room to administer rational behaviour while i indulge in fondling with concupiscence knowingly as it brings about your hunger for me.

yes i am self-indulgent.

but what does that say about you my lustful lover? vision less only when your needs are being stroked to ecstasy, ruing the sight of me once your voracious libido is satisfied and sleeping. pretentiously holding my hand throughout my ordeal as though purposefully feeding my desire to feed you. the lifelessness of me is only my reflection in your eyes when the look of disgust spreads from your lips to the back of your head as i watch you caress the wind as you walk away from my line of sight.

but those petals do not lose their colour still.

Melancholic mornings, and mournings.

primrose dawns and unwelcome visitors.
window sills and floating silences.
music filled ears and teary eyed images.
distant lights and amaranth skies.

melancholic mornings, and mournings.

so tell me you. you who is mocking me by hiding behind stacks of papers. why do you test me as you walk away from me, leaving questions and more questions while i sit here and shiver in the backseat of a car that has a driver who takes my money. but you keep walking to where the white flowers bloom and stand there awhile, as if to force me to contemplate what i would do if you were sitting right beside me with that flower in your hand.


i should not get personal. unfortunately there is you, whose insecurity moulds you into me as you look past my dark brown eyes and see something when there is really nothing. "misfit!" i cry. "maverick," you swoon.

i squint and look around your room filled with images on the wall, worked into an elaborate collage towards an impression of expressions. but hides cigarettes from me in the cupboard beside the bed because those dreadful things i cannot endure. who keeps red coloured dildos because i wear a lot of reds just because the colour accentuates how i must feel inside. bollocks woman. but writes voraciously and vivaciously, and eats words ferociously and fervently. but timidly lets her eyes run about my being and pretentiously fantasises about my skin. "rebel?" i say sarcastically. "revolutionary," she says smoothly.

i cannot stand alone. i lie back and think abou... "don't think about the things you fear. just be glad to be here," she says thoughtfully, studying me.

do not do that you. why read my thoughts. why spoil my mystery. have you not taken enough away from me. why do you like me. why do you know me. do not read me, and then say that i am silent all the time. i found you did i not? why am in your room? because i am silent and you know me just perfectly. it is enough. the enemy of my enemy, is still my enemy. but you, i do not know who you are. do not talk you. but please, look at me more. those eyes, and legs, are my temptations you.. you.. woman.

clenched teeth, and sitting upright on the bed away from you... how dare you reduce me to something whice envies you and crawls after you? how dare you? how dare you... put your hand on my thighs and rest your head upon my skin and kiss the side of my thigh and..

primrose dawns and unwelcome visitors..
window sills and floating silences..
music filled ears and teary eyed images..
distant lights and amaranth skies..

melancholic mornings, and mournings...

Only i know.

i remain stoic through the atmosphere you emit, when only i know the seemingly infinite thoughts that revolve and evolve in my head are triggered by that sultry pose you give unknowingly as i can only watch you this way, almost voyeuristic in its manner, because one person cannot hold the amount of pent up emotions i conjure when i am with you, so i start pretending to be calm when only i know that the war i am waging within knows no bounds when i continually try to fight a frown, so i turn away to look at the precious lava lamp that you bought for me to distract my attention and although i thought i was looking at it nonchalantly, i realise i am concentrating quite hard on this inanimate object watching as the the lava that floats ever so smoothly caressing one another as they pass, only reminds me of the times when only i know the smell of your nail polish when you touch my lips to feel me exhale my desperation to confess, but i feel this lamp has been put there only to frustrate me more as even an object, forces my thoughts on you and your sly and sultry ways because even deep breaths cannot undo the knot in my chest and i turn away into the opposite direction of where you are, hoping you will not see this moment when it is increasingly becoming more obvious that i am disturbed by you even when you hardly have said a word to me but i do no want to admit defeat so i open a book and see the words do not make sense to me, i turn it right side up and had a second attempt; and even i do not realise i am staring into the blank space ahead of me which make up the wall of cool blue colour but i know very well that i wanted red but the wall became blue and then i remember the time when we went to get paint to change the outlook of this sanctuary and my mind was already made up; but i bought this cool blue because she looked at this colour smiling at it with her eyes, while gazing upon it faking nonchalance and i know it is fake but you stood there a moment too long and you never fail to amaze me because i am always watching you and the salesperson was tapping my shoulder incessantly and i do not know what he is saying because i think the language is a barrier because he keeps saying that red is an excellent choice and i am carrying the red and she turns to me and she gives me a slight smile from the right corner of her mouth and i want to go outside and scream at the next guy i see that he has it difficult and he thinks that i am crazy but only i know why i want to scream so i close my eyes and i open them to see the cool blue remain and then i lift my left eyebrow to prevent myself from revealing anything else that resides in my mind so i get up and go sit on the lounge chair and i am in her vision but i cannot see her i think and i loll my head and look at the space where a television set should have been and i purse my lips and think about why the space is empty and all i see are many colours coalesced together looking like they had been limited by four black rims at the ends where the clours are abruptly halted but a painting in the middle of the room? i do not understand why it is so colourful and why it is so big and why it is right in front of me and then i see the colour purple and then i realise we were walking down the pavement of a place and i see the words gallery and i am being enclosed by so many paintings and i am standing in the middle of this seemingly infinite space and i only see her standing parallel to a wall and her hair is flowing down the back of her shoulders all wavy and sexy and she tilts her head a little to the right and runs a finger around the upper curve of her right ear and bites her lower lip and i feel like hours have passed and i start trembling in the finger tips and i feel tears down my cheeks and i bury my face into her hair and back and then i am still standing there and she walks over and slides her fingers in between mine and i realise i am trembling and only i know that i wished that moment when she stood there lasted a very long time and i am drilling a screw into the wall and i hang the painting up on the wall but my vision shakes and i am sitting in the lounge chair looking at light refractions and i notice my eyes are wet and i am overwhelmed by many things and i feel so hard at my chest and i want to feel nothing but then i realise that hiding myself from her is useless as i chose to be surrounded by her and i walk over to her and i sit with her and i bury my face into her neck and i hold her hand and i just lay there like that and i always want to lay here like this and i know she smiles because she wipes a tear from my eye with her finger and i don't feel embarrassed at all that i am crying because i would have cried anyway to have her caress my eyelids.

only i know.

L'Enfant Terrible.

visualizing the incarceration of thyself.

so i have become one of the above. materialising like the other rats that creep under the light that sneaked in through the crevice. treading upon murky water and revelling in the beauty that lies without. the beauty which remains far fetched and unreachabale. watching feet shuffling and like rain they beat down on the asphalt with intent and with no end in sight. whispers of voices in the echos that bounce of the walls of the sewer that i was flsuhed down in the inkling of a thought.

and now i sit here carving inscripstion into my own arms.

is it a fault of mine that to this life i was born? is it a fault of mine that i was not equipped for this mindless violence that was inflicted upon me? i have become. and i have not. as nature dies i die too. as nature replenishes itself, i remain dead. so then, i sit here still, hoping for someone to flush down their excretions so i can prolong for another week, feeding of the contempt off the lives of many.

the yellow eyes glow in he dark. and he is looking at me.

from being an infant, i have become the enfant terrible. biting into the flesh of the rest who were unfortunate like me. but unlike me, they have not evolved. these horns i have grown give me strength in abundance when against the walking dead. you will see and i will no more bleed. and i will work my way to you and then you will be like the reward i endured the vermillion sufferings for. and they will watch me crush you between my shiv like teeth and then i will be rejuvenated; for the life you led me to, i will introduce you to.

don't be afraid.

i have built a very special sarcophagus for you.