Whereabouts of a Wanderer's Soul
send me songs to calm the raging storm in my soul
hold my hand and i’ll hold yours as we venture out
into the forest while everyone else gets blinded by the city lights;
our fingers intertwined and feelings starting to understand
how out names taste from each other’s mouth
pull me close, never let go until the sun forgets to rise
and moon blooms with the quiet night
#excerptfromthebookimightwrite 😛
We don’t forget entirely.
We always have a feeling about a situation we can no longer recall to our memory.
We might not be able to remember it, but it’s that feeling that gives you juat enough to know.
It’s like you forgot the movie but you remember the trailer.
“You started the mosaic out of me. You just found the right pieces to put into place. I was your masterpiece you were determined to finish. Soon you made me into a museum full of mosaics, of miracles, and other happy things. I was covered in colors, and started helping with your masterpiece too. But then you shattered the ones that were simply glass and refused to put them back together. Instead, you turned me into a museum of tattered masterpieces, of tragedies, and other broken things. You pried my heart open like the doors of closed convenience store, not taking one single thing, but destroying everything instead. You left me like an abandoned house, a ghost town with only a resident. You left me for road to kill. The thought of your touch gives me third degree burns and you left a crime scene where my heart used to be.”
“I told the cops you had killed somebody. They asked me for a proof. They asked me for the crime scene. But the crime scene was me. I told them you ripped me. How you ripped out my heart and burned me and destroyed my mind. They told me it wasn’t true, but it was.”
“You killed the person I used to be”
Excerpt from the book i might or i might not write
Time.
They say thay time can heal all wounds
Time is going by and there’s nothing you can do to stop it.
Years will pass and you’ll feel like you’re stuck.
The older you get, the faster it goes.
Eventually, time will leave you behind.
You can never relieve the past.
You can never prevent the future.
The end is hurtling towards you.
The more time that passes, the less you have left.
Time runs out.
Time is unforgiving.
…
right at this moment,I am an awful masterpiece
left here to be
glanced back on and reconsider.
Enthusiastically as I may try
I’m not the muse the poet speak of
Not made up of the deep body of water, waves or tides, no
My ribcage does not whisper to my lungs,
And my heart is not a precious diamond.
It will at all times be a weapon
more than anything.
I am a vague masterpiece
full of striked out words and evolution
no one ever calls a draft alluring- beautiful.
why can’t I be the last piece?
Perhaps someday, somebody out there will.
HuedSpirit