In search of an escape

Running for her life
Out of breath and seeing stars
Shrubs and branches scratch her skin
But she couldn’t care less
Drops of blood leave marks on ground
She refuses to slow down
Her foot twists on the uneven surface
She falls down and screams
Covering her mouth quickly
To keep her voice down as
she hears the footsteps getting closer
Her heart beat thumping in her ears
Her breath is ragged and her clothes are torn
Her mouth tastes like metal and acrid
The ankle bone jarringly twisted
Like a fish hook gone wrong
Dragging her body to rest against a tree trunk
She flinches as she hear them approach
Silent plea escapes her lips as she looks up
Hasn’t she suffered enough?

Advertisements

Disappointments

We as humans will always be disappointed by ourselves by others, the degree of disappointment may differ depending on out attachment level to a certain object (thing/person) but at some point in life every object will disappoint you because it’s natural with our never ending desires and selfish needs. We simultaneously idolize and loathe people who seem to have their shit together who also secretly do the same because they see us just as we do them. Perfected masks and all that’s holy. Only when you get to really know someone the walls crumble and look..they’re just like you blood and flesh and brains and same gazillion expectations.

So normal,  never a thought of giving but always within our own realities and realms of receiving and thus constant disappointments. At the same as we grow as individuals we look back and realize such dumb fucks we were and still are and we keep trying to please ourselves and others, trying to look for some approval. Forgetting all along who we are is what makes us special and different cause everyone has got something in them but because we prefer masks we live in the constant webs of lies we have weaved for us and others.

The vicious cycle of lives we have constructed. How then is it that anyone has the audacity to look at other with fingers pointed when…we all are just same..specks of dust and delusions.

Wrath

He cries over
The wasted years
frantically digs deeper into memories
like a grasping for life
taking his last breaths
finding nothing but a void
he looks down, the hands look foreign
his hands, why are they so red and cold
his vision is blurred
yet he sees a perfect coat of red
what has he done?
his eyes flicker to a spot on the floor
Jane, refusing to move or breathe
all his efforts in vain
a requiem in his ears
his own body now hollow
like a vessel, devoid of a soul
the clock strikes 12
the perfect circle
he drowns in abyss of madness