If you took a glimpse inside my eyes,
you’d see far beyond visuals.
it's like I’m trapped beyond my corneas. And clawing my way out. I get no where. I choose to use my form of expression by art. I choose metaphors and similes. I choose color and I choose black and white. I choose that grey area in-between. The veins in my eyes are my bloody fingers trying to tear who the real me is out of this masquerade. This illusion. My mask of flesh and bone. Another pretty face enclosed and caked on with cosmetics. I draw who I want to look like with a black pencil and some dust. Iris. A vantage point into my soul. Twists and turns. Pulling and tugging, holding up the strings to my heart. Far more then sensitive. The place I allow you to see my soul, my deepest parts from the contrary. Inside out. Strokes of the smoothest bristles of my paintbrush. The creator. Creating and building. Designing graphing out my next move without any previous ideas. Spontaneous. That is what I want you to see when you look into my irises. I want you to be lost. I’ll find you. See threw my pretense. My pupils are the blackest of holes. Burn those holes into your bones. Because “everything is in order in a black hole” that’s what they tell me. And I’ll shudder. Long curling pulse less flaws of tresses keep the outside world out. I blink because my eyes are the most vulnerable portion or myself. My eyes aren’t visuals. They can’t perceive or distinguish. Eyes are blind. They are not superficial. They are not here. I’ll close my eyes and hide them. I’m afraid of what my eyes reveal. It’s a place cameras are enable to capture. Humans are unable to envision. No words. No pictures. Nothing. A vague nothing but profound unfathomable vast extraordinary life. Weary hype. The only paranormal human feature located on and beyond body. Blinking, burying our fears. It’s what the scientist professors coincidently forget to leave out. The non-explainable.
You are a line I’m at the border of
you’d see far beyond visuals.
it's like I’m trapped beyond my corneas. And clawing my way out. I get no where. I choose to use my form of expression by art. I choose metaphors and similes. I choose color and I choose black and white. I choose that grey area in-between. The veins in my eyes are my bloody fingers trying to tear who the real me is out of this masquerade. This illusion. My mask of flesh and bone. Another pretty face enclosed and caked on with cosmetics. I draw who I want to look like with a black pencil and some dust. Iris. A vantage point into my soul. Twists and turns. Pulling and tugging, holding up the strings to my heart. Far more then sensitive. The place I allow you to see my soul, my deepest parts from the contrary. Inside out. Strokes of the smoothest bristles of my paintbrush. The creator. Creating and building. Designing graphing out my next move without any previous ideas. Spontaneous. That is what I want you to see when you look into my irises. I want you to be lost. I’ll find you. See threw my pretense. My pupils are the blackest of holes. Burn those holes into your bones. Because “everything is in order in a black hole” that’s what they tell me. And I’ll shudder. Long curling pulse less flaws of tresses keep the outside world out. I blink because my eyes are the most vulnerable portion or myself. My eyes aren’t visuals. They can’t perceive or distinguish. Eyes are blind. They are not superficial. They are not here. I’ll close my eyes and hide them. I’m afraid of what my eyes reveal. It’s a place cameras are enable to capture. Humans are unable to envision. No words. No pictures. Nothing. A vague nothing but profound unfathomable vast extraordinary life. Weary hype. The only paranormal human feature located on and beyond body. Blinking, burying our fears. It’s what the scientist professors coincidently forget to leave out. The non-explainable.
You are a line I’m at the border of
----------------------------------
crossing.
One foot on a single surface, the other balance on the other. I’m stuck straddling a banned region I should be shying away from. I should be running away from you but you have a burden.. Jammed. Wedged. into my heart. A heaviness is pulling my heart down. Stronger then any gravitational pull. I can sense it deep within me. Right now. At this very instant. You are so far. 397.65 miles away. But you won’t go away. You won’t leave. Even when you stagger away for that moment and you depart, you are never in truth gone.. I have screamed and begged using violent, vicious words. You hold me down, yet you can’t keep me grounded. You pull me beneath any foundation any ground. You crush me below the earth. The land soil and floor. You knocked me down. You drown me higher then the utmost height possible to drift. Yet you leave me the lowest depth I’ve ever been. Let me know when this starts making sense.
"Addiction is a decision. An individual wants something, whatever that something is, and makes a decision to get it. Once they have it, they make a decision to take it. If they take it too often, that process of decision making gets out of control, and if it gets far out of control, it becomes an addiction. At that point the decision is a difficult one to make, but it is still a decision.” I’m out of control.
"Addiction is a decision. An individual wants something, whatever that something is, and makes a decision to get it. Once they have it, they make a decision to take it. If they take it too often, that process of decision making gets out of control, and if it gets far out of control, it becomes an addiction. At that point the decision is a difficult one to make, but it is still a decision.” I’m out of control.
I trust you. I trust you with every single part of me; Aside, Aside from my
heart.
I am an aimless wonderer. I’m a voyager. A traveler. I will travel the battered, twisted paths around your heart. Trying to gather the wisdom to find my way in. I’m looking for answers that are here. Will you reveal them, or will they be kept from me? I’m trusting you. I’m here. I past the point of vulnerable far more then a long time ago. I’ve been beaten and battered to you. You don’t realize. These bruises are from you. Someone’s caused you pain, so you gave it right back to me. You treated me the way you have been treated. You learned to cope; you may have learned to move on. But I haven’t. I’m still here, I hope you notice. I hope you really do care. I hope in some way, shape or form... I hope I truly do matter to you. It’s not something you can just tell me. Show me. Make this different then anything you’ve ever done. Prove them, prove yourself, me wrong. “Show me what I’m looking for.” (Carolina Liar)
I feel like I’m suffocating and I want to scream for air but someone has sewn my vocal cords together in a tangled mess. I’m a guinea pig, your experiment. You want to see how long I could . last living underwater with nothing but pretty words. So give me your Sunday school answer, it’s not okay this time. I’m sick. I’m dying slowly, heart wrenching, painfully. You burn me right to my bones. Sun may penetrate my protective layer of skin but you penetrate my soul. So you’re killing me, just leave me go.
Bring me numbness. Take away my thoughts and I will become a lifeless doll. I drown in my thoughts. So you want control? Here you go. I don’t want it. I don’t want the right to myself anymore. Take my body; and take my mind. I will be your toy. Clone me and you all can control me. I’m in a morbid state of mind. I don’t want to ever think again ever again. It only causes me a massive disarray. So take it, all of it is yours. I am now a motionless, insensitive object. That’s all I wish I was.
I need to stop thinking.
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