gravity eyelids*

She is strong
As long as she is free
Once hooked
It is the first day
Of the rest of her life

The sweet fall starts
And there is no way
To move against gravity
It is a dead end

At times she would think
She is sliding upwards
Moments of euphoria and thrill
That always end up with her waking up
To sweet reality
She would think she is fooling

Reality cannot be fooled
Neither can gravity

Inspired by Inception* and some other drops of rain and dust ruling my mind.
Title stolen from Porcupine Tree

Last night

i dreamed that i was in a dream.
and i remembered it.

Thank you stranger, you made my day

On a random weekday afternoon, she was sitting in her favorite coffee shop; decided to go out for a smoke … a random passerby she has just met on the corner shop - where she stopped earlier to buy a magazine - stopped by. He stared. The stare lasted an eternity.

“You are beautiful you know?” he finally declared. “I don’t mean the typical compliment you hear by everyday people. You really are beautiful. People here have lost value of the words they use. Everyone is telling everyone else “I love you” you know? Sometimes I feel I don’t want to say such words anymore… even when I mean them – they sound cheap. Worthless. But I couldn’t refrain myself from saying this to you. And I knew you would understand it exactly how I meant it”.

She was struck by an eternal silence. She didn’t know what to reply. She kept quiet but didn’t spare him a smile. He smiled back and left.

And she thought to herself – she wished she could reply to him when the time was appropriate. She wished she could formulate the words. But they were stuck in her stomach. She was speechless. It has been a while since she was able to disconnect. And thanks to this stranger; she realized that she still existed in the dream world; that reality didn’t succeed in completely taking over her mind. It took over her flesh yes. But somewhere, deep inside her mind … deep inside her soul; she is still a dreamer. She still believes that random strangers overcome by a beautiful energy do exist. Dream world is not lost. She only lost her path into it.

She would have loved to run behind him; she would have loved to stop in the middle of the street and scream “thank you”. For he has made her day … with a simple little one-way chat … with a genuine smile … he put her right on track; back to the dream world.

Illusion is not lost. Beautiful people do still exist. Words still have their values … only somewhere else!

The Emotions Delusion

Emotions mask reason
They blind the eyes
Cover the body with a disguise
Revealing only virtues
All other traits vanish
You see what your heart wants you to see
And you believe it as the only truth
You live to feed the sensation
That you acquire by this illusion
Of your emotions
You live up to its expectations
Until you become so detached from reality
That your feet can no longer reach the ground
That you feel dizzy
Head floating up between clouds
And you let the wind take you
You give in
To the power of your emotions not your wits
To the illusion of reality you framed yourself into
When the moment comes
For you to open your eyes
You realize it was all a lie
An attempt to feel
… Emotions betray

She is dust

She opens the door
Steps out of the colored room
Right onto the roof top
She wears her wings of sunrays
Jumps down the valley
In the speed of sound
Flies between the shy clouds
She looks for a companion
But the space is empty
She thought she wasn’t alone when she let herself jump
But her alter personalities betrayed her
Alone, she landed on a rainbow
Slid down
Down
Until its colors vanished
Until all became grey and white
Even her hair and nail polish
The journey that she saw ending in a blink of an eye
Proved endless to the outer world
But for her, she is who she was
No strings of time can change her
No gravity can pull her down
Flesh and blood she is, between earth and stars

Passive*

Dead as dead can be
My doctor tells me
But I just can't believe him
Ever the optimistic one
I'm sure of your ability
To become my perfect enemy

Wake up and face me
Don't play dead 'cause maybe
Someday I will walk away and say
You disappoint me
Maybe you're better off this way

Leaning over you here
Cold and catatonic
I catch a brief reflection
Of what you could and might have been
It's your RIGHT and your ability
To become my perfect enemy

Wake up
(Why can’t you?)
And face me
(Come on now)
Don't play dead
(Don’t play dead)
'Cause maybe
(Because maybe)
Someday
(Someday)
I will walk away and say
You disappoint me
Maybe you're better off this way

Maybe you're better off this way (×4)
You're better off this (×2)
Maybe you're better off...

Wake up
(Why can't you?)
And face me
(Come on now)
Don't play dead
(Don’t play dead)
'Cause maybe
(Because maybe)
Someday
(Someday)
I will walk away and say
You fucking disappoint me
Maybe you're better off this way!

Go ahead and play dead
(GO!)
I know that you can hear this
(GO!)
Go ahead and play dead
(GO!)

Why can't you turn and face me?
(WAKE UP!)
Why can't you turn against me?
(WAKE UP!)
Why can't you turn against me?
(WAKE UP!)
Why can't you turn against me?
(GO!)
You fucking disappoint me

Passive-aggressive bullshit...

by A Perfect Circle_


Q: Can a circle get any more perfect?
A: It can. As passive as you can get. Same shit. Passive-aggressive bullshit.

Bite the hand that bleeds*

I watch you tap the blood in my vein
My heart you feed on to keep you sustained
A parasite that leaves me cold and drained

I'm in shock and you leave me paralyzed
And the saddest part I realize
The absence of truth behind your eyes

I feel you tapping my soul from my vein
I feel you tapping again on my vein
I feel my life slipping away

One more drop of blood I spill
One more drop you take
One more drop and I will spite
And bite the hand that bleeds...

I see you have two faces turning
Changing face to keep me guessing
You have mastered the art of deceiving

Now I know no one trusts you
Now I know not even you do
And to think, you've salted my wounds

Now I know no one trusts you
Now I know no one trust you
Now I know your salt in my wounds

One more drop of blood I spill
One more drop you take
One more drop and I will spite
And bite the hand that bleeds

Bite the hand that bleeds you

One more drop of blood I spill
One more drop you take
One more drop and I will spite
And bite the hand that bleeds

Bite the hand that bleeds you
You...


* A masterpiece by Fear Factory

A materialized epitome of a dream.

Am I a tired person?

I don’t have an answer to that question, yet
There are some indicators though, some tangible facts
That can’t prove otherwise
I feel my cells degenerate
Not my skin cells, no
But those of my soul
Are those tangible enough?
The metabolism of my brain and thoughts
Once fast and high
Is now slower than a turtle
How can I know I am tired?
I squeeze my thoughts to write this post
Writing … which once was a natural process
Requiring no efforts from my lousy heart, mind or fingers
Is becoming a burden on my soul
A weight I can’t get rid of
I need to write to take the load off
I need to take the load off to write
Is that called brain metamorphosis?
Is it a natural process of aging?
Is it the lack of sunshine
Or the excessive clouds shading my soul?
Did I become that tired person I was constantly escaping from?

I steal people's thoughts

I enter the minds of random people
Sitting around me in a bar
I sneak into their tiny brains
Fetch my way through the colored threads
Of their most meaningless and their wisest thoughts
I tiptoe around
Looking for a unique idea, a mind blowing desire,
Or a long forgotten memory, in the blackest hole of their minds
And in a moment of revelation, I find one
And then I spend the remaining hour or so
Putting all my energy together
Trying by all means to pull that thought, desire, or memory
Out of their brains
To shape it into airborne words that land on their tongues
For a fraction of a second or two
And then I pull them out of their mouths, slowly
And I use those words to write my poems
That’s what I do to kill time
Sitting alone in a bar
Killing can be a fun process
And it puts together good pieces of words
One after the other,
In a useless poem