dont-be-a-robot

Welcome to my dream where the walls are seeping various shades of blue and green. It's just the sky leaking over the sea. Don't mind me. Just rest your head in the softest of arms with a low hum in your ear. Under this low light everything's so beautiful (it's an organized madness) like tetras in a glass jar. And it's never very far. In fact, always near. It's Heaven and Hell rolled up into one. Where screams are scarcely louder than a whisper. Life outside is just a mar.

we scream the words we don't understand (like a mantra) but somehow we feel it in our bones and the pit of our stomachs like the beat under blue light (displace the pain; like words on a page) if nothing else to believe in, we have this.

clocks    are   ticking days      are   dripping slowly away we're wasting away. but still we are sitting as life keeps on slipping further away how long does it take? our souls are rotting and we are nodding at the words we are fed and the doubts in our head are screaming, writhing,    "they are lying!" but still we are dying wasting away..

Hot tears. Trickling down my cheeks. With a new evening comes a new wave of them. For no reason. For every reason. This feeling, once a stranger, has become a fixture                    a familiarity Maybe even a comfort zone to which I keep coming back the way one would seek a warm embrace. Or am I running into the arms of my enemy who waits hungrily in my personal corner of Hell, to eat away at me slowly and secretly. and to deliver my sweet downfall.