vert

vida

'maybe love is just a requiem for the soul'

- nerina paillot, learning to breathe

id est II

and i paused.

i know you were no longer there...

yet your presence lingers like smoke after a great fire.


suffocating my consciousness.


my heart-ear yearns to hear your footfall,

yet am deafened by the silence...


the skin on my body, lips, tingle with your touch,

your feel that is perpetual and constant.


my body molds to your form in sleep.


were you really there in the first place?

or were your words and my memories a dream?


a cruel trick played by the subconscious.



illusory.



a last attempt at making it known to you that i exist.


but do i really?

mortal childhood

in childhood, we learn to be vindictive. to love and hate.

to love

to hate.

and hate more.

to pretend to forgive and not show that we never forget.

to fear,
to cry,

to lie.

to lie and pretend.

to hurt and be hurt.

to lose and never find ourselves.

id est I

One yearns to return to a time when One had the chance to be with Him, to prove himself worthy of Him. but One cannot deal with the fact that He was out of his league. and that His world can turn without him. but One still clings to memories, or whatever little he has, had... paltry, fragile things... One is a pathetic fool...and the real world is unforgiving. but One is happy and content that He is happy and content.

quagmire...

my quagmire... is just that. a personal quagmire - the burden of being yourself when you don't know why or how. everybody has one... or two. you should get one. makes people understand the gravity of being human. especially if you wallow in your muck...

cheers | salut

ave mundi.

ave mundi.

i rise.

naked yet whole.

for now...

robes made of sin,
embroidered with lies.
i wrap myself...

in solitude we are taught that we are not alone...

celebrate the inherent hypocrisy in the fabric of our lives...

weave.

vivat. vivat. vivat.

kites.

do u believe in kites?

vivid.

dancing through the cloud curtains.
mocking the firmament.

they say kites are Man's hopes.
vignettes of vainglorious self deception...

lashed to the Great Mother,
yet reaching, defiant, to the highest abodes of the gods...

men hope, kites fly...

i don't play with kites.