Infected Retrospect

I rest peacefully among strangers, just as the black rests so peacefully among the ivory. Strangers don't know, and with them I create a distance melodic hum; it's the soundtrack to the unknown which makes its existence so beautiful. Dancing silhouettes trapped within mirrors die behind my eyes, but they'll never know and this thought puts my mind at ease. It's a twisted comfort one can't really explain and can only understand through experience. This whole idea creates and environment so serene, yet so dangerous because just as they don't know, I know nothing of them. Love danced upon my fingertips; among those strangers I was unaware and so was he. Who know I would be the one to fall in love with fiction, a mere dressed up image of fantasy?

We are the insatiable. We, the children of god, show no mercy. Within the unknown lurks a mysterious desire to become aware, but we never really are truly aware, are we? Our lies cover truth and our secrets cover lies. At first glance, we take in what we see and believe what we subconsciously wish was the truth. Automatic judgment is a sickening creation of desire. We then trap those wishes in empty bottles, bottles that will be smashed and broken before our eyes once we become aware. They will spill our dreams, our secret wishes upon the concrete that have become a part of our corrupt human nature - a daily ritual we all mindlessly follow. Hush now, don't scream. The burn of passion is merely a disguise which masks the burn of pain - only after the fire does the ruthless wind bring the ashes to sting our eyes. What we as individuals believe to be reality blinds us, it only allows us to see the exterior being put up and never look deeper to see the truth. The pages of our story, our past, are now stained with everything we hate. The lights of our city crawl from the sky, one by one into the unknown darkness of hatred and fear. These lights are the bottled wishes, wishes with which we painted our sold out futures among the streets of silent romance. In the end, we're alone. We're always alone, and the unknown darkness is our future.

Love is absolute self-destruction.

The Smiling Moon Never Knew

Summer - it's the indefinable. It's love and hate, it's pain and comfort. It's the nights when the stars paint her weeping widow bright and the days she wastes away in a utopia of bliss. She was always shy; she would let her feelings linger in waiting for the vacancy of his heart. He was a beautiful lie, she was his beautiful disaster. It's a strong drug, a drug unmistakable to the summer girl's soul. A drug so dangerously intoxicating that as it fades away with it's season she can feel the sting on every inch of her fragile porcelain skin. A summer fling screams romance is dead, but she would give everything to feel it again.

It was late, the road glistening from the rain. All she could hear were his footsteps echoing though her mind. They'd lay beneath the stars, watching them stain the night sky with beauty. Space's own night lights and satellites created a glimmer off rain drops astray throughout the field - it would cascade upon their young teenage souls. He would tell her everything she needed to hear, but she'd heard it all before. His empty conversation is detectable by a mind of great wisdom and blinded by the poison of love.

Her eyes wondered, catching glimpse of a plane. The stars mapped out the sky; where were they going? She wished she was aboard that midnight flight to the unknown, the unknown sounded enchanting. Escape is her fairytale. Flashback: romantic oblivion, this ink set her fate. She was curious, wondered if the silhouette strangers that were faintly outlined within the windows had lived her story. Dimly lit airplanes against the backdrop of the night sky had always been intentinally created for the runaway. You could see Hollywood in her eyes, but airports are for dreamers. The maze of terminals was never meant to go on forever in this illusioned reality. It's not time to dream, the comfort of compazine is just a fantasy. Welcome to your first mistake, child.

Hello outer space, sometimes we all need a holiday.