Hovering Away from the Scene of a crime.

Ego soar’s incredibly, happiness circles the body, and i feel the warmth exiting… The shell becomes punctured to the other side… My old self dies off – my soul releases – i’m reborn – a cloudy-spirit ascends, i begin gravitating, over my body. I look in every direction, notice every detail. I look upon my old self – my body appears projecting a painting of everything i went through And the end is freedom, from the past destructiveness. It feels surreal, overwhelming my spirt, I begin to “hover” away from the scene of the crime….

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Death by Overdose

The rock forms around the water – individuality is dead, society became duplicated – the printer, prints; never slowing to decide on its ethical stand – conformists. Living within a world we look to television for our fashion – the personality doesn’t blossom as it previously had, the pedals drift in the wind – negativity remains. strong hate stays, They’re marching in a  single-fashion, their one size boots hitting the ground with vigorousness – the blue jacket stands out in the darkness. The soul, searching for different, never quite finding the spark; they see dead frowns mass produced; eyes appear sad, overworked, overused, their face is old, and hungering for another fix. Time continues and shall bring change, the junkies die, the dealer’s find a bullet – their organs, fail and their bodies shake – A pipe falls to the ground, hitting the ground with a sweet release, the shadow comes out, and sinks beneath -Danced with the devil, He overcame their mind with ease, and destroyed the GAME. One by one, they met their fate.

Lifeless Organ

My heart has broken apart, forever floating within the seas of my tears. It was once captured… Not now… it becomes free and the power is dispersing. It continues lifeless. and forgotten… It forever holds what love was. and what it could have been. encased in a bullet proof jar… the jar is filled with barbed wire… Lifeless like a plant without shine, or a rodent that has been killed… it floats forever within the jar, searching for anew relationship, love, friendship… I’m alone, and dying inside… But this isn’t new, this isn’t strange… it’s my life. The life she once gave, is a dream.

Creative: The Troops Around The Heart

My heart was wrapped within tin foil and was ever expanding, and heating with ease…. now it isn’t captive once more, it’s freshly escaped and on it’s own… the warmth is leaving, the beauty within is disappearing. It’s free to be where it wants, with who it wants… but still, it thinks of her, and the greatness it once felt under her authority. It wanders the land, with selflessness and warmth… but the warmth cannot be returned, can’t be restrained for long. i had another temptress, another great girl, that only wanted what she could take, rather than me. I’m broken and guarded once more. I wanted her within this life, she wanted temporary satisfaction and currencies to better her life… while bringing my being down quite drastically, while lifting the ego. I feel used and taken for granted once more. around my heart are troops stationed within a watch-tower surrounding the premise with strength and hostility…. never letting another around once more…. my heart beats a sweet song of all that it’s encountered… let in, and taken apart. Set on fire, and then stomped on… because my heart is a game to most, another treasure discarded in the sand, never to be held for the right reasons again.

Self-improvement, happiness.

When I walk through the store, the eyes gravitate towards me, i can feel the atmosphere and it’s cold and bitter. Everyone’s out for themselves…. they look as if they’re wolf’s taking the meat of another’s, eating the steak bloody and rare.  for this reason, I look rather aggressive, and hardened… the torment, aged a once happy face, an innocent sweet smile turned to a frown… i stay behind a barrier of what the world had done to me, because it feels familiar and keeps me safe… My eyes are sunken in and the rings around dark, my hair’s neat, my clothes a well-washed, my hands are soft, but my heart’s cold for society. They’ve stricken me of my final shirt, the shirt that kept me warm through-out the winter months…. I don’t feel pity for myself because i’ve learned to understand that people were a product of their days, rather than something they’ve purposely done. They weren’t meaning to take my final shirt, they couldn’t have known. I feel sympathetic for them, rather than angry, because they’re a product of their environment and i’m no longer one. Growing up was a difficult experience for me, but it satisfied my once clean soul, and left it with a delightful colouring, of my now excellent personality… the one that’s been humbled and calculated by my mind…  The one that’s forever developing, uniquely and efficiently. I feel the lights of the heavens around my body, I feel their divine energy contributing to what i’ve grown to love, and that’s self-improvement.