"I go to seek a great perhaps" - François Rabelais

He sits there
head throbbing, thoughts pulsing painfully through his mind.

Hands shake, cold air bites,

wisps of smoke rise

And he sighs his emotions out

In white swirls, his thoughts float away, drifting off to melt into air. 

But sinking into his calm

the smell of cigarettes lingers only to bring the memories all back.

How do I reach you? 

when I know my words cannot heal. when I know my hugs cannot help.

while I sit here lonely and you sit there alone. behind a screen of smoke lost in your own world. 

How do I reach you?

"And when you’re standing in the rain 할 수 있는 게 별로 없지 내리는 그 비와 함께 이 마음도 젖어가겠지" - Nell, Standing in the Rain

his quiet voice fills my head
so loud so sweet
sinking into me
so i can't hear my thoughts
nor his words

--

Title: "And when you're standing in the rain, there's not much we can do. For our hearts will become wet along with the rain"- Nell, Standing in the Rain

"Most of us remain strangers to ourselves, hiding who we are, and ask other strangers, hiding who they are, to love us." - Leo Buscagli

I always wondered what she looked at.
Because she gazed out the window.
At the sky. At the airplanes. Above the tips of trees and buildings.
As if she were running. Away and away.
Along with the birds that flew so freely and the clouds that drifted lazily across the world.
What did she look at?
A world all her own, tucked within the slips of her small smiles. A melody only sweeter because it ceases to exist. Held perfect, in that silence, more beautiful in imagination.
The air held its breath as if the moment itself wanted to stretch and yawn and sit idly next to her.

If only I could catch her. her thoughts. her heart.
If only she would look at me. For I was always looking at her.

"Be the calm in the center of the noise. Be the eye at the heart of the storm."

It was a timid knock at first.
Quiet, subtle.
A whisper to slip under the door again, to ease back in time when everything was still.

Silence.

She knocked once again.
Louder, adding rhythm to the beats.
A playful edge. Perhaps they will notice now she's changed. Look at her life, her vitality, her smile. 

Silence. 

The door loomed in front of her instead. Growing, growing. Darker.
"Mom?" the little girl asked hesitantly. 

"Mom?" "Dad?"
She knocked again. More frantically. Banging, screaming, kicking. 
Did they not hear her? Will they not hear? Her efforts became more desperate and 
Anxiety seized her from behind, choking her, strangling the breath from her. Black stains began to bleed. 
around her neck and in her heart. Fear. It was Fear.

Gone. Gone. They were gone. And she was abandoned. 
Shut out in the world of black corruption and decay 
And the knowingly ignorant just
forgot.
Living their pure fantasies inside the protected and clean house.

"Dirty," they said. "She was too dirty," they whispered.
Indeed. White. They saw only white. But with eyes black, darker than the world they made, winking sinister grins.

"Poetry is always close kin to the impossible, isn’t it?" - Alvin Feinman

Sing to me, my love.
And I will spin stories that fill the empty cup in your heart.

Sing to me, my love.
And I will dance with you eternally as your other half, your other hand.

Sing for me, my love.
And I will be yours forevermore.

---

To spin, to twirl, to dance. Alas this happiness, I hope your last strands will not escape my reaching fingers. And instead I will be immortal. In this snapshot, this moment, and time. My etched words to walk on ahead of me.

"Something's wrong when you regret things that haven't happened yet" - 1940

There are times when I suddenly freeze and a numbness creeps up from my legs. Hairs raise with its ascent  till it paralyzes my entire nerves. And I sit stuck. In a certain horror of all the things in the world. The list grows longer and the images become unimaginable and instead the feeling lingers. It stains and crawls. And I bend and twist. Stretch to get rid of it. But the strangling feeling. Just grips tighter till my heart feels too squeezed to breathe. Claustrophobia. It whispers. Schizophrenia. Terror. Faster. faster faster and the beat speeds up and space closes in and you just can't

escape.

And so I stay shot. From the gun created by the world. Still infected in sleep.

"How embarrassing. I just went to hug the sexiest person I know, and I ran into the mirror" - Kyle Fisher

you can run
but you can't hide

i think that's the scariest thing ever.

"Lately I've been, I've been losing sleep, thinking about the things that we could be" - OneRepublic

and for some reason 

the girl who got knocked down 

just couldn't

get up 

again

"Rise up from that tomb of failures and clear your eyes, so you may know the wonders of life once more."

it hurts to smile

the sound of rain can't heal me now

not anymore

alas what is this despair that poisons my veins

"Murderous looks keeping each other in check When I turned around after running for a long time I had lost my innocence and become a villain No one will forgive me" - Zico

i wonder why i'm so fascinated by slow motion
to see figures people life
snap back rewind time move gracefully in air as if it were water. a thicker viscosity. a more beautiful art.
but of course more agony. strain.
frustration.
is this fear?

because i can't stand that crash. the fleeting speed of time.
so i stare at the crash test see the airbag slowly blossom right before
death

and with each light follows the shadow
i can delude myself but now with longer time to stare at my demise
inevitably fated for this swing of motion yet i can't escape

crashing
i don't see my airbag
do i need it? do i want it? will it ever come and will it save me...

from what though.

save me from what.

...
in the end i don't know
in the end isn't this just all in my mind
in the end doesn't all of this not exist?