oily marks appear on walls
where pleasure moments hung
beore the takeover, the sweeping insensitivity
of this still life

--

Life is weird as hell.

It's hard to know where I'm going, and even harder to know where I'm coming from.
Have things truely lost the beauty, the poetry they once held?
or
Have my eyes been blurred by the criss-crossed grid of expectations, and worldly pressures in my line of vision?

I used to sweep through my days with such quiet observation. I used to set my ego aside and breathe in the air as it is.
I used to speak such sweet whispers of understanding.
People used to be curious of me.
I used to have a secret universe of passion and wonder behind my eyes...
and I used to share that with anyone who inquired about it.

Where have I gone?

I want it back not just for the people that will just simply pass by me.
I want it back for the people who have changed ME.

For one person in particular. One person that I love the deepest...

yeah. I go deeper...

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