I Wanted To Share This With You All.

Meant To Be Bad

An Angel

Everyone has one

They watch upon us, they say

Aiding us through strangest of means

But when your angels turn to beasts

And haunt your dreams

Darkness spreads everywhere, no way out

You must become comfortable in this hell

For now fury is your peace

Your demons, they can’t be drowned

And you start to sink in the black water

They are your salvation

What is there in morality?

Submit

You are meant to be bad

You shall so enjoy, you feel

Revenge from fate

Although this path is forlorn and condemned

And a transient relief

Who is to say I won’t succeed?

Lifeline (a poem)

Lifeline

My dog doesn’t realize how his leash is a lifeline a grip on his reality keeping him from the cold regardless impact of cars or the enticing aroma of freedom that would lead him so far from home he might never make it back no matter how strong the pull of his hunger or the ache for his toys and bed or even the sound of his name being called out over and over through all the empty streets within my ever-broken heart.

Within the dark forest

A humid element and dense fog

Coating the perceived dark soil of my self

An uncured and unwilted earth

Too dense for a breath

In this hardened lump of clay

Uncultivatable since forever

A seed has been sown

The seed is of a need

Of a friendship and a love

Of germination

It belongs to a field

The soil is still set and hard

Tormented by torrents of rain and storm

Of high winds and meteoric stones

Infested with the dark worms of doubts

And the spread of pain's fungi

Rotten roots and corpses of rodents

A stunted sapling or death

Is meant

But

The tilling of the soil, the seed brings

A shelter from degradation

Slashing of the grey canopy

The soil softens

Under a new brighter light

A warmer shine

Creatures breath

The rot expunged

The seed warms up

Hope for an orange fruit

Let me drown in the cold wind of solitude A shiver of pleasant memory, I feel The heat of anger subsides Although the path is destructive and forlorn A breath is what I need Relief from the crushing helplessness Wind was numbing and parasitic

For a bright second sun shines But then the betrayal resurfaces I plummet into the seemingly never ending tunnel of despair Tumbling and falling but I try to hold on But the shadow is all I can see and I can’t outrun it Because it is attached to me

These cuts and wounds of joy are treasured souvenirs They remind me of my loss,my downfall Their presence pains me But I couldn’t afford parting I love it I hate it The bittersweet memory

It was evening then. Just 7:30, but the night had already set. The dim streetlight cast a bluish hue over me. I was walking in the street, towards the pool side of the B block. I was wearing a hoodie,the hood covering my head. My gait and the hoodie signalled ignorance but I knew it was just a pretense. I knew it hid me from the gazes of other, it hid me from their faces, which told me what they were thinking, it hid me from thinking too much. Cold winter wind was blowing. I was wearing shorts and could feel it flowing around my bare shins. It flew through me. The coldness went through me like a ghoul. It sucked energy from me. Goosebumps signalling its departure. Leaving me momentarily empty. But I felt alive. The heat in me receded. The anger subsided. The cold wind felt fresh in my lungs. It chilled my nose. It felt tingly. The wind was addictive. I wanted more cold, more release. I wanted to feel it in my body. I wanted to drown in it. It gave me relief but took my life. While I write this my nose bleeds. I feel the red warm blood flowing out, dropping to the ground. Turning from deep red to ferric tangerine. The wind was parasitic.

A Pretense

“The normalcy of life burning a hole in my curious soul

Where it should have been nurtured, my creativity

Is rotting in the stillness of mundane

Is it educated out of me?

Steered away from interests because they say

“You would never get a job doing that!”

Or has my imagination drowned?

Imagination, a gift as potent as birth

Where it should have sailed into my adulthood

Has been stumped prematurely

Has life become a soothe stream, with occasional waves?

Where it should be a whirlpool of experiences

Claps of thunder breaking the monotony

Mute now defines it

Am I living? Is there liveliness?

Its presence I have never felt

But its absence is apparent

Have we all donned masks?

And dissolved in the masses

Lost our individuality

Is this all a pretense?”

This is one of my earlier works.

Words flow from the deepest gashes of our deepest injuries. If you treat the wound and let it scab over, The words won’t come anymore.

stay miserable because I like the way you bleed. (via housewiththereddoor)

Art By IG: @Naehrstff

sinema filmleri izleInstagram: @artwoonz

They Change Us

From man To monsters

Frome monster To men

Such Mercurial Is Our Nature