ScorchingWords

If you ever meet

A painter

An artist

Or a poet

If you ever have

The privilege

To encounter

Those absentminded

Splatters of paint

Smears of ink

Of charcoal engulfed hands

Run.

Admire and run

Because these composers

Have found a habit

In excavating into

The unseen

Into

What everything might mean

Right from your head

Down to your toes

They have the unexplainable power

To go

Where nobody knows

Delving down into the bane of your existence

With the hunger of a wolf

The heart of a lion

And the scorching flame

Of an eternal persistence.

Do not worry about those personalities that've been ignited

Artistic souls like these

Have been unmercifully spiralled

Thrown onto this world

Completely, remarkably

And utterly wild.

Creating meaning and definition

Amongst the chaos within

An unforgiving cycle, without any restrictions.

Fatal mechanisms

Programmed inside

Too confronting to run from

And way too intelligent to hide.

They are addicted to addiction

Throwing pictures and verses

Holding immense conviction,

Straight from their souls

Tying

And binding

And tethering you down

To their spirit on paper

Pouring inherent secrets

Throughout every ounce

Of their heart wrenching 'art'

Nevertheless,

good luck interpreting

Because who would know where to start.

The speculations of their illustrations

Could be the death of you

Due to the constant contemplation

And the knowledge of their unpronounced capability to subdue

Jumping to conclusions

Attempting to understand

And creating countless delusions

Amongst both woman and man.

So, if you see

These creative beings

Turn to yourself

And reflect, please.

Decide if you want

To be painted

Whether you like it or not.

To be shown in the flying colours

Of every metaphor

In ways that are incomparable

And comprehensively irregular.

Decide whether you want to be unexplainably engraved

Into each little scribble and line

The creator displays.

Because once you make a mark on their life

There is no turning back

And not you nor anyone else

Gets the entitlement to decide.

-stay only if, you have good interests and can handle unexplainable creativity, differentially in thinking and unapologetically sensuous expressions.

Once upon a time

We held hands as we walked down my street

Seems like so long ago

Our collective innocence at its highest

Giggling and sneaking in the darkness

Butterflies fluttering in my chest

As well as an abundance of something bigger in my stomach

Sending warm chills down my spine

The way her hand fit perfectly in mine

As if it were made for that

For us

Making us feel like we were the only ones alive

And with each other

By our sides

We could conquer the world

With our entwined hands

If i had to describe myself

using a certain word.

Addiction,

would be the term

with the desire to be heard.

Not because i am one.

But because of how easily

addiction comes.

It soaks into my veins,

leaves marks in my skin.

And once it consumes me, 

I can’t win.

Like a drug, or how people enjoy the rain

they seem to come and go

whether or not they cause pain.

I’ve become stuck in this endless cycle

filled with uncontrollable cravings

that i can’t seem to stifle.

I’m well aware of how detrimental this can be

but what can i do

when the main problem, 

is me?

The walls

pressing in

not knowing who i am

nor where do i fit in

to society,

a place

where variety 

is misplaced

and either embraced

or expelled

without an in-between

or any type of rules

telling us what this all means.

You and me

fit so perfectly

into this imperfect world

but yet

we’re so out of touch with reality.

It’s insane,

the irony

is insane

and i think its time

to say goodbye to me

no wait

do not derive me

of this place,

not too soon

nor too late,

just wait 

are you sure

i’m not prepared for the encore

because regret is stronger than gratitude

but maybe it’s time 

for you

to say goodbye

to the person i had once been

the one that only some had seen

because i’m tired

of all this running around

trying to escape a place

where it’s wired 

within me

to be 

this.

To be me,

a mess.

Some would describe mess as art 

but that means someone can interpret it

and with me where do i start?

Not here, 

or there

where would i begin

oh the possibilities of what you could find

is something that i could not bear.

I would lose my mind

more,

than i already have.

Should stop looking into the past,

but the past is what defines us

and if not don’t be daft

history is the most important part

of this world that is a mystery

because humans have records 

of recreating their mistakes

continuing to make them until it’s too late

to change

or understand what we have done.

But 

I must leave my past behind me

and concentrate on society

now,

but how

am i supposed to do that

when my mind fast forwards to the future

and with it comes anxiety

but it’s okay

I’ll just sit quietly

and wait,

for the relentless struggle for sanity

to turn into a fight for authority

of my own self.

But it’s okay

because at least i’m not looking back

at the troubles I've faced

I’m looking forward to the future.

People describe it as bright

but i can’t seem to view

try hard as i might

the light.

Because

all it appears to me 

and all that i can see

is a dullness over the earth

a cloud i can’t disperse.

People say it gets better

but when the storm clouds come

it just gets wetter,

and slippery,

and harder to breathe.

And not i can’t seem to feel

the way i felt before

it’s so much harder to deal

with this pressing weight

upon my shoulders.

But it’s just dead weight

you tell me,

it’s just dead weight.

But

it seems to hold so much value

and every day i talk to someone

i’ll just say “hey, let me add just add you

to the growing pile

upon my shoulders”.

Sometimes it gets so heavy

that at first glance

it’s hard to see me

hidden, 

under this facade

or,

whatever is around my heart

these days

to protect it 

from the inevitable downpour

of the torrential rain.

But hey,

i smile

and i swear,

I fall in love

with the raw side of people.

With the parts of them

not everyone sees.

When they’ve been stripped of

what they’re trying to be.

And I see them, 

without their facade.