Why is it I give everyone my all and leave nothing for myself? We are hearts flowing. Downstream my love pours until I run dry.
Wickedness
This is my world
Colored with rainbows and sunshine
Colored with shadows and rain
This world is mine
Thriving with innovation
Thriving with deprivation
This world – internalized
Dying with old age and excitements
Dying with abuse and pollutants
The nightmare series #1
The room is filled with darkness and I can feel nothing accept the aching in my chest. It restricts each breath with anxiety creeping through my veins. Then there is light and I see someone; a man. We’re in a wood house. Wind sweeps through the cracks of the wood with a whisper. I hear a baby crying. The man, I know him. I trust him. He does not speak a word, but tells me to follow him. The light shifts and we are elsewhere. The baby crying is louder now. I try to ask where the baby is, but no words form. A girl twirls, her hair flying around. Her giggles echo with the sounds of the crying baby. I almost smile at her joy, but she stops. She looks at me, or faces towards me. Her face does not exist. It’s a blur of non existence, yet I know she is laughing and crying. Facing her pain with hysteria. My stomach cringes and the man grabs my wrist. We go up a wooden ladder. I hear the screams of the baby. Once we are in the room, like a loft, the man dissappears. There is something on the floor, screaming. I tremble. I fear what has happened to the baby. As i step forward to glance at the baby, the man reappears. He thrusts me forward.im standing over the baby. But it doesn’t look like a baby. It has some light brown fur. It’s body looks mangled and twisted. But it has the face of a baby. A scrambled and frightening face, but the face of a baby nonetheless. I attempt to scream, but all goes silent. All goes dark. I open my eyes.
I am part of one the one percent of the general population that has chronic nightmares, multiple nightmares every night. When ever I have the time, I will be blogging any nightmares I remember. Join me for the terror.
In the wrong, in the right
Does it sound inappropriate?
The way I say your name
Does it feel inappropriate?
The way I kiss your lips
Do you know the taste
Of the forbidden
Why is it we crave what we should not have
Have you noticed..
What is my obsession with time
Every moment tracked and monitored
I keep tabs on myself
Not to waste this oh so precious time
But am I not wasting it by tracking it?
A moment passes with each glance towards a clock
An hour passed as I scribbled my schedule
What is my obsession with time
This illusion we share
It controls me as I attempt to control it
A thought
I thought you were worth the thought. -thinkwithdepth
Cease to exist
So who am I
If my word is not spoken
Does my story persist
If my voice is broken
So who am I
If nameless I remain
My ideas cease to exist
My lips abstain
So who am I
A body of pain
Intelligence dismissed
No truth to explain
So who am I
A moment is forgotten
A moment is a breath
To continue to breath
To keep time
A moment is a convergence
The intertwining
Before and after
A moment is decisive
To form what follows
To create
A moment is endless
To hold on
A memory
A moment is forgotten
No significance
Time lost
How strange to think that this moment will only be a memory.
To feel
Within the anger growls trying to tear me apart. Devour me. Trying to control my behaviors. Cause others pain. But I will not allow it. I need to allow myself to be at peace.
thinkwithdepth 