i.n.t.

Best video game night sky level?

Feed your dashboard by answering my question, blogger.

Its been a while, but I've finally found my passion in writing again this past year. Expect to see some fresh pieces from me soon!

With all my love ❤,

I visited the coast whose stormy skies flows, building more powerful.

The morning in late October was designed for empty spaces; structures swirling around between profound.

Encased in glass the sun and night glows like ancient trees, bold yet mindful.

The design and decoration are the embodiment of creation.

The girl who wishes with pennies Sinks slower in the water Until she’s knee deep In promises she once hoped Other people would keep She held faith in her palms That burned holes through her hands Until the coppery smell of change Entangled with her blood Red cascaded down her fingers and The once clear waters melded with Her spilt blood, that now pours Rivers of a faith lost to time

A man sits with his woman and tonight she is called redemption. Tomorrow he hopes her name will not stick to the inside of his throat, but the time moves slowly in the too-bright of an atmosphere that Phillies brings. The hopeful lighting does little to ease the tension sitting heavy on his shoulders. He questions himself on whether or not he should turn to her and apologize for all the wrongdoings and heartbreak he caused. He can see the way those burdens have weighed down on her once smiling lips. Instead of facing those problems dead on he lights a cigarette that tastes like bitter loneliness, and loses himself in the small talk with the waiter.

The woman only half listens to the conversation in ambivalence. She sits in the company of her lover, yet she feels as if she’s alone in the room. The warm glow from the lights fake a sense of security when loneliness creeps over her skin, and she’s freezing in mid-July weather. She painted her lips in red to catch the attention of the room, but the only attention she grabs is that of her own reflection staring back at her with saddening eyes. Trapped in her own glass prison, she can see the outside, but she can’t escape.

When you feel like you’re all alone The world will start to feel cold. I will be there for you with my hand to hold.

Days where loneliness clings to your backbone Life will feel as if you’re walking around with a blindfold When you feel like you’re all alone.

Although I will remind you that life is not set in stone And the rest of your own has still yet to be told. I will be here for you with my hand to hold.

The seed of life may feign it has never grown On darkening days where the night takes hold When you feel like you’re all alone.

Battling against the raging unknown In a life left in your own hands to mold, I will be there for you with my hand to hold.

Something there is that doesn’t love a clock, That continues to move with calculating precision, And turns the hands of time closer to an end; And holds no mercy to those who crave for more of its presence. I greedily stare towards the clock ever begging for the release of time Where the day passes by me slowly, But I still wish for the hours that have already decayed in my past. No one has seen the way the clock plucks at the heartstrings But in our loneliest hours we crave for lost time. A wilting man who keeps the company of Death, But leaves him at the door replays past memories To bring him comfort before he rests. Oh, it is just another passing of time, On one side he mourns, on another he prays There where he lies he wishes for a different time. He is the dirt beneath the ground, and I am the vibrant flower growing above. He says, “there is no mercy in those with little time.” Hope is the mischief in me, and I wonder, If I could only tell him of all the good he has already had in his life Would he gaze at Death with different eyes? Before I checked the time I’d ask to know What I was wasting my life on and how I could make it worthwhile. Something there is that doesn’t like a clock That wants time to pass by freely, instead of counting down. He said time is like a vice, Slowly closing in until there is nothing left. In each hand a choice to make Whether to waste away or do something with life. He will not open his eyes to check the time again. He finds solace behind his eyelids. He says again, “there is no mercy in those with little time.”