I found pride within the dry desserts of my emotional plane. The seemingly endless vacuum of a soul I had comforted me because of the obvious difference there was between me and them. However, this attribute becomes suddenly typologized, stereotyped, and generalized. We are of an emotionally selective group. Never will you see us cry over the death of an individual society tells us to weep over. Restrictions and obligations such as family will not stir our hearts. No…
Our hearts are our own. We are individuals of individuals. We segregate ourselves through our own constructs. Those whom we encounter are segregated within our worlds as well. we experience empathy, but it is different to the non-sociopaths. I look at your definition of empathy and feel as though my deviation is the same. I feel as you feel; I just happen to feel more. We surpass our appetites and use our love to manifest our ideals, and mine happen to revolve around the poetic potential of the moment.
We are not incapable. We are just scrutinizingly objective/selective.
Memory is the distance between you and I.
The laughter and the times we shared,
All is withheld by the eternity of our minds
Can the man truly say he meets his wife
In the solitude of his self and be dared
To say that he encounters her and he she finds
The roses of shattered psyche that haunts for life
The relationship that was ripped and ensnared
For everything resembles you and makes my mind grind
For Memory is the distance between you and I
You dance with cherubims and seraphs
While I dance with you in the void that grows in my mind
For it was the last good night you will ever know
My Dear Mistress,
How you destroy me.
From you comes all my doubt and weakness.
You are nothing but a void that I can never hope to fill or close.
You Take all that I have and leave nothing but an empty pathetic carcass behind. You destroy me.
And yet, I am so dependent upon you.
I so desperately need to free myself from the torturous lustful chains that you have wrapped around my neck and still, I find myself crawling back to you.
Putting back on the very constraints that killed me.
How genius you are with your psychological terror.
The warfare that you have mastered and now use to puppet me into obliterating all that I hold dear and true.
My dear mistress,
my dear mistress,
With my first step towards freedom I release myself from your eternal grip and pierce out into the world that I have so long forgotten.
May the memories of void and black evaporate into light and shine.
Curses that hold me to you will now banish and the curses shall be no more.
For all eternity has in store my victory over yours.
Beneath the call for the dying
is an omen
This omen either walks over you and crushes you with its weight
or if you prepare for its arrival and make a foundation
It will take you high into the sky and allow you to prevail
The last goodbye can be yours
The last anything will be the omen’s
A beautiful depression has risen over me. Yesterday was one of the most unproductive days of my life. I felt like doing nothing. Inside there was a voice telling me to work or at least write but I ignored the qualm. Instead I laid in my bed and did nothing. There is very little that attaches me to this world and those things are very temporary. I recognized this and knew in my soul that a day would come when those ties would be cut. I never expected them to be cut so soon. I failed in preparation. A sadness has caved in on me.
Like any other emotions, this is a great opportunity to act in virtue, but… I have found that nothing makes one more human than sadness. Nothing reminds the soul of its emotions, weaknesses, and bitterness like sadness. My constructs crumble before me in a light that I would describe as tragic and poetic. Even in my own destruction I look for beauty or elegance.
Punchline. Joke. Insanity.
Punchline. Joke. Insanity.
What does the world have for me?
With all the laughs and rape
A smile reigns upon my face.
As I inch closer to my ducal crown
to become the clown prince or king in town.
I smile, I jitter, I laugh a lot.
kill or be killed because I need to laugh
because I like to joke ‘a’ lot
with my hands choke ‘a’ lot
than clean my palate w/ some chocolate.
. Hee Hee Hoo Hoo
. Ha Ha
. S me?
. m h
. i t
. l e W i