cchungunco
Feelings of repressed anxiety built upon moments that capture a life worth living. Far beyond that of what we remember and vested on absolute sunshine. Forgetting, forgetting, forgetting. We should each glance back on what we used to know, who we used to be.
Like the riveting ocean on a vested thought. Arcs of chance persuade the battle to move forward into the trenches of combative skepticism. Those who do not see, hope. Hope that there are topaz skittles drizzle the surface of continuity and that comfort reverently waiting for all of us on the other side.
I collapse down as my world crashes on the brink of destruction. I blame my helplessness blues on impossible distraught. With a thunder's clak and boom, like blocks of Jenga static runs through my nerves as I cease to believe in the world's beauty when life starts making sense.
Everything I had to give I give to you. Severe taunting falling over the obedience of those who can't listen to the sound of rain that throws droplets across the barrier between you and the world making love. You will shelter me though there isn't much of me to left.
The dawn mourns the passing day as if it was also grieving it's short lifetime. The trees whistle and the leave fistle growing evermore numb in the silent rain's drizzle. How lucky am I that nature's orchestra plays daily and just outside my window pane.
These days when I look through the window, I make love to the world. The autumn leaves that decent from the orange-sing tree and the crunchy sounds of the feathery blossoms dying. These make an imprint on my outlook and I succumb to the peaceful acceptance and cycle of life.
An idea patented by the very best, caressed into one's mind without the hinder of doubt. The reality of this pure and unimaginable scent fluxed into a vortex of judgement and integrity. Never allow your ideas to be swallowed by those who praise scepticism.
He was in a crowd, swimming with people he had never seen before. Strangers. Minds that thought alike, minds that didn't know yet. He enjoyed this moment, this playground of what if`s, a medley of compulsive similarities.