Not TheirsFor anyone to dare try and have my luck,
feel free to try and live through it,
having a challenge every waking moment,
to always wonder where you,
the moment you wake is home,
or a strange realm you have recollection of,
to as always,
be in a mere panic,
trying to calm down your breath and think back,
as far as you can,
to where it all made sense,
after a few minutes or hours,
you are out of bed,
getting through the day,
still unsure of everything,
but you at least try,
the inner mind walls are higher than ever,
but for good reason of true meaning,
that is clear like a sky blue evening during summer,
you don’t to hurt anyone,
so you smile,
be honest enough that you can hear the eggshells cracking below your rocky steady feet,
compare to nothing,
that failing and breaking into a self,
you don’t what it is,
but only knowing that is you,
a dark you,
and you know you don’t like it,
but no matter what,
that feeling of breaking and falling into that black hol
Thy One Fear Is . . . (No. 19)It starts out something small, like a space, with no room to move.
Alone, while in the distance, the feel of time is going.
Yet, the person is not.
Just standing there, unmoved.
Everything around just keeps going.
Not the person.
Everything is aging in time, but the person, remains still, going nowhere.
Just so still.
Ahead of you.
In the offing.
Just for the future for something.
A pin down drops, deafening the ears, and blind sighting not long later.
Glancing everywhere and noticing how much everything else keeps on, yet not that one person.
The thumping of the heart thunders in the ear, worry that will pause out, only stricken up the sickness within quicker.
Mauling up the tension, ticking them away, blistering under the skin.
Life is moving.
But not that one person.
No way out of it, because if one misstep, something will be missed.
Of what could be, unsure, however so hunger to see it through.
Begging the body to move.
Move! Damn it, move it basta
Gift to Curiosity Inc.What at times,
makes one stand out,
in what they do?
how else to say it,
but knowing it’s a fact,
and only one fits this statement.
there is an avowal;
one tends to show,
not only in their work,
At times it could be irate,
and so on.
out of most,
out of all the psychological sentiment,
one seems not to be spoken much of,
making it rare in critics,
but not to those who understand when coming across that expression.
in young and old,
all have it.
Leaving only one reviewer in mind,
lives by his title,
Curiosity Inc. really shows in his name,
on seeing something wider scale,
than that of much narrow look.
he’ll falter to that,
narrow certain points,
but to only expand on them,
mostly for that their source lack that,
and wants everyone to see it as thus a second look,
than given at once.
With a name like his,
it will be endless bet on when,
Paint a Picture No. 39Finding that one, who understands, and never ask one to change; takes more of a trial than what anyone would never know of, but there within one could try and do whatever it takes.
Molding one’s feeling to another, in maybe searching not only oneself of emotions of compassion takes more than undemanding words. The ones that just leave as murmurs and vacant promises do nothing but concave a heart.
His face only seems to bring that sentiment to life, with dilapidated hands, went with his work. Echoing of the crackling of stone, chip by chip, slowly the heart becomes less of an unsung play, and radio the words that were once unsaid, booming across a large slab of cold stone.
Along in his story, leaving only to grow his passion behind locked doors, many of who knew him, only knows that whatever he constructs, becomes a master piece of its own right.
Through the months, his guarantees to allure others grow unclear and soon, it’s only for him.
From fingers to elbow caked in harde
The FeebleThere is an auburn flair language, which is not common among the lands; playful to the ears as an atypical moan that puts one in a choke hold.
It always runs its route, never stopping; ceaselessly it seems down the ways fly through stale air.
Just doing so, giving plays that just keep going; there could never be just one need.
To those who don’t understand, its fine; there was never a full reason.
Lay in peace, a momentary instant it will be; but hold it!
Even if daring to blink and giving up, it will be crushed; dust blowing the wind as a goodbye.
Leaving that feel of a passing passion; comes to that as a need, yet far from it when it truth it is only a feeble want of misery.
Hear the BoomFrom here on out,
to the fuck of what others come to conclusions,
they don’t what happen than,
what one says,
another will add more bullshit to the mix,
ending how to say what is facts,
while fickle fiction covers the damn truth,
even the lies are pitiful to look upon,
for they’re the words,
that didn’t know what could have happen,
worst than the truth knowing and staying silent,
in this damn mess,
that thickens and mends nothing,
almost in coming spring of a new year,
a new step is made,
when in this too beautiful world that is just a walking time bomb,
slowly just ticking away the time,
eating away at someone,
time is paused for a moment,
just a moment to make something happen,
bitter in taste that will last on,
but throwing away the past and burning the remains,
at this moment,
this very moment,
could be what defuses the bomb,
to hell and high waters,
it’s a chance like no other,
risk like anyone,
flip on the lies,
and cover the truth,