| It is not me, sometimes. You see, within my heart, overflows a passion that overwhelms. A fever that seizes what is not given away willingly. I invade like an emperor, masked with feminine temperament. It is only when alone, I reflect on my own sincerity... What is this obsession some of us have with love? And that we project onto our victims who kindly take back their own. Forward, we move. Smiling, without harm. Why is there strategy then, that I feel tugs at the truth within my heart? I am in love with the characters I write. In love with the idea of love itself. Though my capacity is limited with pulsing conditions. It is sickening to have it reflected back to me. In all its manipulation and desperation. Hoping to take when it only seems I give. I loathe the inauthentic and dispute in the mirror, my case. Intensity swells in the iris of my eyes. Those who come near me either sweat with obsession or shield them self from the heat. And what of I? Waning from one infatuation, to another... projecting the characters I write onto people who in this world disappoint me with their predictability. Indeed I am a Novice, innocent yet manipulative. And I lament that my love continues with condition. It is a cold day, when obsession offers you the truth that all the while you have been hiding from. That I, am unloving... And infatuated only with novel pursuits. ~~~ No... Then I cling to my guide, my heart, my truth. Should I continue to break bloom within this cucoon, I shall. And make peace with this aloneness that when I allow, feel the spirit in all awe breathe on me. This is not the story of self, the journey of I and you. I want the breath, only the breath as my divine solace and rectifying truth. |
2 Comments
Junyan
4/1/2015 12:13:19 am
Keep on writing. Your feelings and thoughts are worth so much.
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Junyan
4/30/2015 05:48:41 am
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=c2ll4H8RWI8
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