Knife

That uneasy feeling you notice that is piling up, barely able to be covered up by the carpets and the wooden planks. A deep, dark cut on the smooth surface of the cement floor, the crevice of many unspoken worries and terrors. Don’t you sometimes wish you could just tear apart all the veils that cover the ugly scars? To peel off the skin layer by layer, until you reach the blackened, poisoned veins that are too far gone. Perhaps it would be easier to simply slash it open, and let the bad blood bleed out slowly, until finally there isn’t much left to be bled.

Then there is the cold, a icy dagger that slides so silently between your ribs where its poison starts to spread. The pain is covered up by the poison which spreads, quietly, quickly. It isn’t until the knife has been wrenched out till you feel the blood gush, the heat leave your body, the life leave your soul. The massive wave of disillusionment tears up your soul, the feeling of utter disappointment and then, loneliness.
Don’t you see now? The knife has always been there, ready to be unplugged, ready to open your eyes to the cruelty of this world! Open your eyes! Don’t you see the blade that is buried in your chest? Do you not understand that the jutting black hilt is the plug to a blackhole in your heart?

The plug has been pulled, yanked mercilessly off, and there is nothing left for me to mourn but my own stupidity and how it has caused my own demise.

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On our way to…

Waves crashing onto the rocks where the barnacles and the limpets cling on tightly for their lives. The rocks are hit, again and again. You can almost taste the salt in the air, the ocean’s breath.
There is no need to try to understand why things are this way, or how things work, it’s just that simple.

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A note on Friendship

Sometimes these people whom we trust and spill our hearts to betray us, and perhaps that’s just a part of life we should get used to. But sometime no matter how many times you’ve stabbed it still hurts.

Or worse than becoming enemies, is to simply be forgotten, thrown to the side by someone you cherish, you care about and put in first place. Then you realise that you’ve always been the spare, the back-up plan for someone’s boredom, the second-best to their true friends.

People will tell you that these are not your friends, just people whom you should forget and that you will find better friends and people who actually care about you, etc, etc.
But how much longer should I search until I give up? Until I realise that, maybe I was meant to be alone?

Friendship, is something even more fragile than love, there is no promises made to another soul that is unbreakable in either relationship, yet people just never take promises with a friendship as serious as they would when in a relationship. This is a pre-programmed setting in humans, the essential illness of us all.

Who are your true friends?

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Friendship.

Grey is where we are.

When you think of colours, do you think of what they represent?
If you say red, I think passion, blood, vivala vida!
If you say white, I think of the clouds in the sky and the purity of the colour that really is… nothing.
If you say black, I think of the innate evil within all of us, the darkness of mankind.
But what if you ask about the colour grey?
I have no answer, in my mind there is nothing but a murky blur of nonsensical thing, the blending of the most pure and the most sinister. The lines are blurred and jagged, we don’t know the start of the colour and we don’t know the definition. The world is a huge wormhole in which grey exists within everything, in the air, in our bodies and in our souls.
There simply is no true black of true white, isn’t it but the darkest hue of grey? Is is not the lightest tone of grey?

We live in a world that is grey itself, the area in which we trod, between the light and the dark, between ”good” and ”evil”. The death of one is the start of another, there is no good, no bad.

So if you ask me again, what I think of when you say grey, I will answer you truthfully:
Grey is the world we live in.
Grey is where we are.

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Grey

We are the devils we create

Sometimes I wonder why I am so scared during the night, or why I suddenly feel the urge to hug onto something soft. I think its because of all that bent up stress and worries I have inside me, we worry, we think too much and then it eats us up.

People say that what you dream about is what your subconscious is thinking, then what IS my subconsious thinking about when I do nothing but repeatedly jump into the sea over and over again in the same dream?

I know it may sound weird, but the thing is, I am worried about drowning, but its my dark thoughts that will haunt me, not the suffocating water that’s causing the problem.

I think, we create out demons; then we wither because of our own creation.

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