Fly away far from my thoughts evermore
Fly, dove, for you were born to soar
You were meant for art and nothing more

If I should ever try to give chase,
Speed up, lest I see your fair face,
Fine as gold and smooth as lace

You are not for me, nor I for you
Two cruel statements, both all too true
These I must grapple with to start anew

If I should write again of your beautiful ways
It is because you are art and beg for praise
I, just an onlooker; enamored of your grace

Forgive me, for I have thought far too much
Your laugh, your eyes, your entrancing touch
I should be happy I've even seen this much

Forgive me, for I know not what I do

...Though I wish you were mine...

"I was dead until the moment I met you. I was a powerless corpse pretending to be alive. Living without power, without the ability to change my course, was akin to a slow death."

[Code Geass - Lelouch Lamperouge]

In darkened hour midnight strike
Creeping upon a moonless night
Tiptoe shadows on the stair
No mortal being is aware
Of why this silence is so odd
Knows that this peace is mere facade
At night when no one is awake
Things that were shadow now find shape
A hesitant noise a single sound
In the imagination fear abounds
The echoed wailing winds cruel taunt
Turns any home into a haunt
A nightmare world only I can see
The glaring eyes, the clawing trees
The blackened clouds that race the sky
The power of the stormy night
A world of shadow built on fear
A paranoia that death is near
It builds and grows in mounting stress
Into a scream I cant suppress
And rips the darkness like a blade
And strings out curses long forbade
The terror, the terror! Flee! Run!
And Hide until the morning sun
Rises up to drive away
The darkness with a newborn day
And shivering, sobbing, there you will lie
Scolding yourself with a small sigh
Wondering what vision you had last night
To send you into such a fright
You will live in peace and without dread
Until once again the sun has set
When shadow overcomes the light
In darkened hour, midnight strike

I call upon the past in memory of the future. I call upon blind eyes to see past the blockades of history. In the barrage of fiery torrents I feel the sting of your hands against endings of raw emotion. Bring forth a desire of such intimacy it drives every ounce of strength from this life. Like a candle in the dark, with dancing shadows ever at the change, leaving only remnant ashes in the black abyss as it fades away. One more chance, as from falling into a never past silver winds beckoning for more than just a single please, ignite what passion simply remains from screaming corners of the pleasurable mind. Just one more chance, for the light behind these soulless eyes, and the vanishing flame inside my swollen heart. I'll channel every thought into the perspective of the mind, every second to the mending of the lost times, and every thought to the one I see in imperfection bask as thought they were.

I'm trapped within my mind, a hollow tunnel with no light to follow, only a wind of snowy blades cutting deep into my mind's perspective. All but haunting faces, and daunting voices mark the inner walls of my mind, why won't they just vanish into the void of my soul? What shall this make me into, what will the molds of time produce...the next walking disaster?

Pelting rain beats against my pale skin, every drop a fist of an egoistic past, every blow taken to my mental body. And in the rain I situate, mesmerized by my past character, watching the life I had once occupied through hazing eyes. Like a star in my own debut, damned to watch the same review until times end. Repeating every scene with such excruciating detail, bring pain to every cell that lives within a vessel like I. Even after the curtains close, sets a veil over my performance, I am forced to continue my story...retold. Over and over...I drone, like a dance to a never-ending song. The song of creature so sadistic, though stitched of grace, able to fabricate such sweet aromas of luring perfumes. A tide of such aspiration, the sound of a violinist. A violinist pained but never impedes. Engaging in melody of delicate precision of grace and sorrow, intertwined. Though too many years of bleeding fingers he never recedes, always playing to my act. Why do I continue with no audience to please, the illumination bright but then uncaring. What drives me on?
With such determination I begin to wonder what is my part in life, is it naught but an over-rated act? Like a ballerina fallen from grace, dressed in an attire of battered satin. Upon her knees she gapes to the illusory audience, to only receive the disappointed eyes of hollow degrees. They ask so much, it drives the body to such extents...It's just a dance, its just another play...

A play that dies at last she sees on what observes. A lonely man shaded in the folds of darkness shroud, watching the obsessive dancer drone. With such infectious pride he takes this human as his own, 'his' daughter. But we all know, now as well as he, every act must have its end. When the solitary beauty dressed in the rags of necessities, pink tatters of a gracious costume, tears the delicate slippers from her feet. And lays down for one more eternal slumber. And what is a finale with out is accompanying music? A single lingering applaud, like a deathly lullaby. The song that surfaces in the most desperate of times, as well can be heard underneath the strings of the violin, the blood stained wires of one mans life.
The last note played, the violinist can lay down his instrument, throw it from his suffering hands, to return to whence he came. And to the single audience, a long and lonely walk home to an empty house. Past the dying lights, the dreary beat of the rhythmic ocean, and under the ivory moon. Into his dwelling he resides, inhabiting the perpetual light, his story begins...

"Under the watchful eye of a burning candle, beneath the shimmering cinders of a hopeless flame, I mourn of the simplest of things. I mourn of what I once took for granted. I no longer live the undemanding pleasures of a ritualistic life. I am no longer blessed with the detail of the rising sun or the privilege of human publicity. Always lost in grief-stitched thought, oblivious to all but the self sought reflection of stone cold visage.
Under the moonlight he waits concealed in the drapes of human fear and pure temptation. Such a lucid hold on reality, so free from the ties of sanity, no pride in immortality without a soul to save. Walking through the hells gate, into the flames of deceit, I remark is so suddenly nothing compared to promenade in damnation in a world you'll out live..."

If there's one thing I know, it's the way the thick musty summer breeze can take your confident smile, and turn it into the tiniest shrivel of pathetic dust that lurks in the middle of the Sahara desert. The beating sun, stealing away all of our vulnerable life, sucking up the pure substance that we believed we once lived off of. Our tears that we once shed for our loved ones were taken and strewn upon the land, making the oasis that our children's children swim in to this very day.
Shout (shout?) from hilltops, and make us realize that our lives are much more than a sickly exhibit for the ravenous puppeteers that put on their show for the kings, and wear us out until we can no longer help him please his guests. We are learning how to grow out of these outfits, and get rid of the strings that attach us to our mourning, hardly bearing enough skin to cover our bitter and abandoned wounds. And the time will ultimately come, where we will miss our predetermined lives, controlled by apprehension and strings of our mystic puppeteers. Crawling back to them is the last thing we should take part in. But like all the windborne cracks in the winding sidewalks of a physiologist palms would say, it's a never ending cycle, a labyrinth of pain... its... life. You can not win. You can not lose. The only thing you can do is take the thrusts of pain right to the stomach, and then die.

I could say it never happened
Just a dream from the start
But then I'd live my life
With a broken heart....

Forgive me my brother for what I've had to do
The blood that I've spilled once belonged to you
My might against yours, thus it must be
My blade against you and yours against me
May faith persevere, may time heal today
May wisdom prevail, may light lead the way
An enemy's strength in a brother's eyes
A warrior is born, and a warrior dies
My brother your pardon I beg

Dance, little girl.
Dance for your soul.
When all else is ripped apart
pray that you remain whole!

But 'oh, sweet dagger' as my dear Romeo replies, you shall let me free of all the misery. You shall open up my heart and pour out my love, pour out all my dreams. They shall all be unleashed.

And you shall have in your soul the blame of my sleep.

A two piece broken heart,
a one track mind

Why can't you see?
Are you really that blind?

Erase the facts,
fill it in with fiction.
This is not love, it's an addiction.

The past is not the present
yet you can't let go.
Holding on to an autumn leaf
while your knee deep in snow.

Your soul torn and tattered,
love's locket shattered.

Do you like the shards?
are they nice and sharp?
Do you enjoy seeing the fragments of your fractured heart?

I remember the day I left,
Like a dream in my head,
I remember that last smile you gave,
And remember what you said,
You said, "love's the highest mountain,
You don't have to reach the top,
As long as you keep climbing,
And you never want to stop."

Back then I took no notice,
Just shook my head and sighed,
I never thought that leaving
Would leave you where you cried,
It's only now that I'm alone
I recall those words of yours,
And dearly wish I'd listened,
To that wisdom of yours.

You were the glow that turned
The night back into day,
A candle burning bright to drive
The emptiness away,
But now I've left forever,
The night has crept right back,
Your light has been extinguished,
This darkness never looked so black.

Now I see friends fading,
As my pride departs,
And long to hear those whispers,
Coming from your heart,
I know you know I want you,
To know that what I meant is,
To leave you for such a cause,
Was non compos mentis.

I remember the day I left,
Like a flower by my death bed,
Because living without you,
Is just like being dead,
Love's the highest mountain,
You don't have to reach the top,
Just as long as you keep climbing,
And never want to stop.

A million stories that made up a million shattered dreams...

The blood of fate drips upon the effervescence world,
As we cherish the shell that we've hardened upon ourselves,
Yet when the time for change has come, we fear it.
Our perfect, happy futures are at stake, we see it.
For some, to better oneself after hardship and burden,
Molests our sheer freedom to rebel in childish ways,
To say "Flip the world!" and "Whatever" is blasphemy.
Yet to say "I will be better" and "Forever is never" is treachery.

We are the future. We shall live longer than our ancestors,
The dusts of the earth mock us in tiresome ways,
Yet the essence of the future relies on us.
For without us, they are nothing. We are their creator.
We are their life, when some will never believe in such.
We will spawn them, and they shall turn against us,
Against the ways we have set--such is life.
Such is change, the way to adapt to celestial revolution.

And they will learn, learn from our mistakes,
Just to end up repeating them in different ways.
For time is like a river and its flow a repeat,
Yet water evaporates, so can time change too?
Yet it condensates, will time recreate?
Does time ever freeze? Or will it simply melt away,
Like our fragile lives, wrought from morality and fear.
Fear to do something different, fear not to do the same thing, every year.

For every grown individual has a civil war inside of them,
A demon and an angel, a snake and a dove.
One who tells you to do wrong for sheer pleasure,
One who tells you to do right for sheer destruction.
To do good is really to do bad to the ones who are,
To do bad is really to do nothing to help anyone.
To keep the neutrality is impossible,
And if you do, you are a fool.

A fool who believes in nothing,
A fool who has no faith in themselves.
For one, to be a fool is perfection,
Yet for the other, a fool is miasma.
To be perfect is to have no flaws,
To be flawed is to be blessed.
To be emotionally invincible is to be perfect,
To be perfect is sociopathism.

This is my epitaph to you all,
To rise above my ashen past,
And burn into a time forevermore.
For my tears have burned away,
And hope for the old world has died away.

It was dark. You could barely see him, slouched down on the pavement. His arms rested on his knees and his head was tipped back on the rough red of the wall.
A car rushed past. He closed his eyes and sighed. Lifting his head he rose to his feet. I miss you, he said quietly to the empty street.

It began to rain gently. He looked up to the dim street post; the light seems so alone, like it couldnt touch its surroundings. It was so close but still so far - he began to walk. Splash...splash. His runners led him through avoidable puddles. But he didnt care. He wasnt walking through puddles, it wasnt past midnight, and he wasnt alone.

The street turned. It made its way between buildings, through tunnels and down black alleyways, leading him through the darkness. The pavement - it cant forget; memories become landmarks.

The stars began to show. He lifted his head to the eyeless moon peeking through the clouds. When did the sun stop shining? He silently questioned the mute replacement. Drip...drip. His question was answered. A year, a year that emptiness had been filling with every tear - till he would drown. Drown in the memories - the ones that were calling him tonight.

The clouds were parted. The skies were left barren and cold; the stars were as frozen tears, suspended. A warm tear broke free and fell across the cheek of the night as his own began to fall.

A car rushed past. He closed his eyes and sighed. Lifting his feet he climbed the steps to that place where everything seemed to come together and fall apart at once. He cried, its too late...but its the closest I can be...
It was dark. You could barely see him, kneeling down on the concrete; his arms raised up and his forehead tipped forward on the cracked red of the door. Alone. Memories can seem so real...But they can never be real enough.

I am a product of wishful thinking, fruitless hoping, and poor planning.
Despite the world, I breathe, I feel, I bleed.

Life exerts itself against me, and this body pushes through the currents in a struggle for something yet unattainable. Spirits filter around me in a soft sea of ever-flowing calm. Because I am human, I hate, I love, I fear.

My mind is corrupted with spider webs, lost on dewdrop prisms of natures perfect circle and spun inside a cocoon of solitude. When I stare, I stare beyond the lines of sight, into an ethereal sensation of light.
When nature inspires, I study, I write, I understand.

Calm peace wraps my soul, though the toils of this world are hard against my mortal heart. Something wonderful drips from my fingertips, presses sensations to glittering images and guilty words. Emotional logic, I think, I feel, I watch.

I have talked to my soul, met my twin, loved more passionately, hated more deeply than any could imagine. I have hurt and been hurt, loved and been loved, tortured myself and others, broken hearts and mended broken hearts, given all that I had and yet taken all I had. I am complete and incomplete. Sad and disappointed, happy and content. I am a paradox of all paradox, a bitter union of bliss and desperation, a dark past and a bright future collided into the myriad droplets of present.
This is my magic pool..my pleasure and pain, my hope and my fear.

I am nothing more than I am, and I am everything I can be.
I am more alive today than ever I have felt.
Even though this life is killing me......

If you aren't remembered, then you never existed.

Stumbling around in the silence, a world of worries, responsibilities and distrust weigh down on the fragile shoulders of my insanity. Stopping for a moments rest before I begin my journey of survival all over again...I sit. I wait. I breathe deeply, savoring my temporary peace.

Picking up my burdens, my responsibilities and shame. I continue on. I walk through the worn and torn streets, garbage swirling around my feet, smog clouding my thoughts and lungs.

A thief steals my hope, a taxman takes my pride. I'm stripped bare of my light, till I've been plunged back into the darkness. Left, used and abused to gather what fragments are left, so that when they come again, they leave happy...an idea I have long since abandoned...

Slipping into lifeless routine, days all slip pass. Memories mingle and slur, till there's nothing but a confusing blur. Caught like a rabbit in headlights, captured by the gleam of the Worlds 'welcoming' existence...you all expect me to survive. But when a rabbit versus a car.... there's no imagination needed to know the outcome.

"One day you'll wake up to reality...and die."

By the light of the moon beneath our sacred willow tree,
Crippled by torment, I dream of a love that can no longer be.
Where shadows dance and darkness dwells,
I struggle to find a way out of my private hell.

Sky-clad I kneel upon our hallow birthing ground.
Longing to be in your arms where I felt safe and sound.
Where are you my morning sorcerer, why won’t you answer my plea?
Why can’t you hear your midnight witch singing for thee?

A grave now stands where we used to lay in perfect harmony,
A place for mourning marked by our weeping willow tree.
Lying directly above you upon your eternal resting place,
I sigh a lover’s sigh, wishing I could see the perfection of your face.

Your essence will forever haunt me,
Turning what we had into a sadistic memory.
You were my fate, my true destiny.
How do I go on, without you here beside me?

How do I find the strength to say goodbye?
How can I live when your memories refuse to die?

BECAUSE LOVE WAS FOREVER....
or so I thought


I gave you my heart and that's all I can give you.
And if that's not enough, then I'm not enough.

Drowning in a pool of thought, I cry out to the winds.
And sing my songs of deep regret of long forgotten things.

I flail out in the dark abyss, to strike an unseen foe.
I hear its voice ring in my head yet cannot land a blow.

I thrash till these, my arms, lose strength, and fall to this my fate.
Crushed by wretched memory, of pure undying hate.

And as I sink to these dark depths, these cesspools of my mind,
The voice, with flaming breath, it speaks, of evils pure and blind

It spoke, it sang, of actions past, of evils and their toll.
It spoke, it sang, of pain that lasts, that slowly kills the soul.

And with each verse this demon speaks I lose my will to live.
With this my blade, a silver knife, to death my life I give.

Yet, as my blood flows to the earth, it speaks its final line
And only then I realize...this demon's voice…was mine…

I should have never let you let me go...

We are hanging over a sea of knives and spears.
The land beneath us has disappeared.
Gravity shuns us to our doom.
We tried to find a place in fate's heart but, there is no room.

You did it, you did it, goodbye.
You love me, you love me, you fell for me.
The swords they puncture your legs, your arms, deep in your skin.
They push into your heart until you bleed within.
The sweetening sorrow comes over me,
I clinch tighter to the rope as I watch you scream.

In order to survive, one of us must fall.
Confess your inner feelings darling, confess it all.
Because a single thread can't hold us for too long.

Sometimes there are no words....no clever quotes to neatly sum up whats happened that day.


Sometimes...the day....just....ends.

"For millions of years flowers have been producing thorns. For millions of years sheep have been eating them all the same. And it's not serious, trying to understand why flowers go to such trouble produce thorns that are good for nothing?

It's not important, the war between the sheep and the flowers?...

Suppose I happen to know a unique flower, one that exists nowhere in the world except on my planet, one that a little sheep can wipe out in a single bite one morning, just like that, even without realizing what he's doing - that isn't important?

If someone loves a flower of which just one example exists among all the millions and millions of stars, that's enough to make him happy when he looks at the stars. He tells himself, 'My flower's up there somewhere...' But if the sheep eats the flower, then for him it's as if, suddenly, all the stars went out. And that isn't important?'"


[The Little Prince]

WHAT IF THE PERSON YOU WERE MEANT TO BE WITH COULD NEVER BE YOURS?

It matters not how strait the gate,
How charged with punishments the scroll,
I am the master of my fate:
I am the captain of my soul.

[William Ernest Henley]

Presence of a thought in a feeble mind,
Like shadows left to the mercy of a dying candle flame
A delirious sense of being, unfolding visions inexplicable,
So many factors, who should get the blame?

Draining hope of everything it has,
Screaming through the silence of your voice,
A short sojourn to eternity and back,
Horizons of sanity; where art thou?

Maybe this wasn’t what I planned
Wasn’t what I had in mind
You write your own future
You can’t rewrite your past
I keep all your photographs in a box
Shut up and sealed with tape
Your letters line the walls of my room
I can’t escape your words
Haunting, like the memory of your smile
The first time we met
Maybe this wasn’t what I planned
Can’t play with fire, toy with fate
Swap signs, I turned left at the crossroads
Should have taken a right…
Lost and wandering clichéd paths
And so my heart stopped beating
When our eyes stopped colliding
You may not be exquisitely handsome
But you were to me
Stare,
Stare at me forever
I’d love to see you when you’re old
Never tire of that smile
Maybe this wasn’t what I planned
The realisation hits so hard sometimes
All I can do is put my head in my knees
Suffocate in the dark
Until your thoughts pull me out again
Sometimes in the mornings I pretend
I’ll see you today
You’d pick me up again
Twirling round, round and round
Constant spinning helps settle my head
Since you let go of my hand…
This wasn’t what I planned
To be able to remember exactly how it felt
To have your lips whisper my name
I can still feel your skin on mine
The waters so hot to burn the pain away
Hell, I still I love you

She strode down the walk that dissipated in the distance
At twilight the scattered flakes of space dust began to glow beyond
The silence of the night came creeping in on quiet haunches
Only a few sparse remnants of the day still lingered
Like laughter mingling with the evening news
A rogue bird twittering goodbye to the sun
Stragglers of the day in quick passing
She bid them a faint smile and ignored the churning of her insides
The fresh air and crisply fragrant breeze helped to subdue her torment
Grinding her teeth, she trudged onward towards the horizon
Determined never to go back
But she would
Whether it was with or without her heart
The thoughts on her mind weighed heavy on her heart
Wrenching themselves tightly around it
Each worry was another razor-sharp truth biting at her moral
The clouds seemed to follow her
Looming ever so discreetly where she couldn't see
But close enough for her to feel them hanging there
Fresh disappointments lay like crimson shards underfoot
She wouldn't allow herself to look down and remember
She stopped
Stood for a moment to look up at the stars
Her breath crept tentatively from her cherried lips
The corners of her mouth tugged down as she thought
And looked
And felt
The entirety of the universe staring back at her for that moment
And watching her breath draw away from her mouth into the cold air
She said to no one in particular
So this is what sadness feels like

I'm breaking; I can't do this on my own
Can you hear me screaming out, am I all alone?

And so it is:
The shorter story
No love, no glory
No hero in her sky

Thirty ways of revenge
Now, the day has come
Have you ever felt like something belongs in your heart?
That something is missing from your life,
Even though it's just a stone's throw away?

So have I.

Have you ever felt the weight of your failures compounded on your back?
A missed chance here, a ruined one there,
Many regrets that can't be made right?

I've been there too.

Have you ever done whatever it is that you really wanted to do?
To go to the places you wanted to go,
And say the things that really needed to be said?

I wish I could say I have.

Have you ever made a mistake and instantly felt the regret?
You know you shouldn't have said it,
You know you shouldn't have done it.

Yeah, me too.

Have you ever felt, that in the end, none of your actions mean anything to anyone?
That time will make the world forget you,
And that people will still go on living?

I feel it all the time.