I won’t sink my teeth in, nor draw my sword to plow the rock-hard soil, but without Mother Nature’s tender touch, the plants leave only poison and oil below the skin. The loneliness is a tense silence like a war fought oversea, the contact limited to thunder and clouds, but without the torrent or the celebration I cannot discern the eye of her storms from the beating of the drums ushering me home.
There is more than good and evil in a person, there are three sentient beings. There is the head, the heart, and the gut. People will make decisions of love with their heart if they know love, and decisions of belief with their head if they are skeptical of religion. But when these two fail, a decision is made with one’s gut, which shows that one is either desperately ignorant by necessity or ignorantly desperate by carelessness. When any or multiple of these thinking entities are clouded or damaged, a person becomes subject to whimsy and must rely on luck for healthy decisions to be made. This person becomes psychologically insane, as sanity is the harmony of these decision making bodies.
You tell me I hurt you, I’m hurting you, or that I will hurt you. I warned you I would, even went so far as to warn you that I was mentally unstable. I did all I could to bring as little pain to you and repair any damages I could. And yet you have the nerve to come crying to me, causing me pain, causing further instability, and ruining my life, all because of something I did that was completely unrelated to you? I have been there for you every day I have known you, and even before then, as strangers, I would have been there for you. I would protect you from any harm and I still will. I give you everything I can whilst running my own life, trying to fix the damages, and you think you have the right to tempt me from my path? I love you, now stop fucking my life up and be a friend, because I have always been a good one to you.
You are one beautiful lass;
Not stupid like the rest of your class;
Not ignorant like those in the past.
Your own entity,
the epitome of individuality.
I can only pray that you won’t stray from me.
Everyone in contrast;
No one can even contest;
I love you, my Princess Badass.
I suppose I will just have to follow this path until another 10-car pile-up occurs and I can be with the angel I first locked eyes with.
I feel I may have been reading eyes wrongly… I believe now that it is not the patterns, but how the viewer reacts to them. If the sight draws the life out of you, you best notice it before it truthfully does. If glaring into the eyes of a person makes you feel like you are invincible, alive, courageous, embrace them, love them, make them be in your life.
This pain is not what causes strain for I never feign the rain expunged from the clouds in my eyes. It is the fear see that keeps be dreary and weary and yet awake through the enchantments of soft, perfect slumber. Nightmares trample my dreams, gouging through my waking thoughts, turning karma to poison, luck to pain, raining fire upon hours of work before my very eyes. And through it all, you only see a glimmer of thought in an otherwise perfectly sound shell. As an artist, I know that a good paintjob can cover the damages and weak points of any structure. But as a structure, you only hear that I am seventeen stories of titanium, as the shining wood splinters at every point.
I love to write for many reasons. Firstly, writing is not just a way to communicate, but a way to display emotions, opinions, ideas, and thoughts in the largest varieties of methods and severity. Writing provides those handicapped in artistic ability to truly show their creativity and openly display their ways of thinking. Writing is unable to be misheard, but when misunderstood, can be corrected. Writing allows the author to become an illustrator, to paint pictures with words, to command emotions in the reader through clever arrangements of words and literary elements. Through writing authors can release their inner emotions at their pace, in the way they want it to be expressed. Through writing the average person can transform stories into epic legends, or the obituary of a darkled existence of a person, or the extermination of a people. By the use of mere words, a person can tell the history of his family or his nation, so that generations ahead will never forget where they came from. Through writing, an author can tell a story of an apocalypse, fabricate exotic aliens or creatures, teach students the necessary tools to carry on their lives, teach life lessons that could be the difference between a person living as a scoundrel or as a lawful citizen. When writing for an audience without critics, one can organize it however they want, can be free to confuse and make mistakes. Writing does not take expensive materials, and can be copied for all to see, but protected from fraudulent thievery. Words can be memorized and presented through speech without any failure or difference. Writing can lift the author’s spirits just by having their troubles on a piece of paper or on a computer. I am one of the artistically challenged people who needs a mental outlet, who has much to say, who wishes to create and experiment, who yearns to share stories of alien invasions and magical landscapes, and so I write.