The Silence Between Words

we're all just mere imitations in a play of life, what if the stage lights go out in the strife? I can smell the smoke and hear the knife, a mile away from a damaged and shattered rife. we're different in medium, object, or mode, but hung onto the sense of imitation, where rhythm, harmony, and melody flowed, we bow to the natural art's liberation. we're the most imitating beings alive, to coexist in mirrors we build and burn, hanging on the stage with a thrive, desperate to be let down, to cry and yearn. we're characters either admirable or inferior, dying to be the accused in someone else's play, crying to be a victim in your own theatre, mere words and actions strung on display. we're starring in comedies or tragedies on the set, sit still and watch or be watched by the rest, mere bodies and voices in harmony and sweat, you either jump or are pushed and it's all for the best. 

When did life turn into a fake scenario? Am I bleeding after the war? Or am I blushing behind a door? It's such a mirror maze taken seriously; Walking in honourable fashion, Into yourself until you ashen. When did I turn it into an oddly crime? Am I guilty of choosing what I want? Or am I guilty for being nonchalant? I turned it into this subliminal game; Winning is so close to coming 2nd, Losing is not close to being reckoned. Was it always such a race of mice? Did she strave to death on the way? Or was she walked on until she turned grey? In the wildly tribute to all the dead, They gather around the leftover dirt, Say things that never sound assert. When did life become a beautiful tragedy? Am I the best thing that ever occurred? Or am I the only thing ever so absurd? My breath so light I might just lose it; Into the darkness of forever, Or into the brightness of never.

The pools are stagnant with dirt and leaves, I switch plans like I don't know my feet. Is it rest if I run to the Sunday feast? Or am I presumptuous to everyone I meet? The attack was hijacked for a noble cause, I was blamed for being too much in my thoughts. Sending cards to the dead is a lost cause, But don't tell me I'm presumptuous without a toss. Tame your lions and run to your den; You don't wanna watch me fail again. Keep waiting to hear the roars just when Being presumptuous means going down the wrong lane. Gentle, until I saw why I was held up. You can't expect me not to fight the chains they put up. The days seem like nights and I don't know where I'm stuck Between timelines or a presumptuous mess of luck. Lines are so blurred from where I stand. They got rid of the chains and tramps, But I'm left behind in time and span. I just wish I wasn't presumptuous, but I am.  

torch light and tight ropes tied to metal bars in a hideout. sip on inhibitions with high hopes, you say "I'm sure." when suffocating in doubt. the ropes pull tighter as the time ticks, so many choices not to choose from. returning to Earth when it's all fixed, but you're still searching for who to run from. your hearts put in the open, to bleed, and drain, and flow, and your mind's been so unspoken since the day you lied twice in a row. laughing with the wrong crowd, what a way to cover that pain? dark humour is death being proud, the silent mourning was vain. the dust wore off and the sun settled. look past the world's voices and commands, of who you are and what you'll be, and untie those ropes by reclaiming your lands.

lines were drawn and erased a number of times, watching the same episode I know all the lines. on a low-lit Sunday night in a despicable blaze, you show me how to escape from the haze. soon enough it was a whirlwind of small thoughts; 'is he thinking of me' I stop and analyze. down to every single word in a casual text, just to see the branches of your affection deflexed. waiting for you to lash out so I could run and hide behind all the high lines of armour. to live like you never happened in the day and your name on every thought doesn't stay. every hour just to see if you've worn me out, just to see if you can still talk me out, of eating a dry and tasteless fruit in the middle of a hurricane in a parachute. I wrote pages about you and burnt them, just to see if you could still say my name. in a spelling too wrong to overcome, or disappear into a cold air flame. so much thought to being next to a girl like me, I try to glow it down so you can shine. to every picture ...

The outsides are still rigid and rough, I dream of drowning in the lakes. Watching all of the city was enough, To make me want to go down till it breaks. Voids of light seem to avoid me, Or I'm just running from the best. Not proud to admit the blame's on me, Too scared to know if I failed the test. This phase isn't a phase anymore; Rather stare at a stone than my face. It's more than just anything I've worn, Want to rip my skin yet heal with pace. Doses of insecurity fed by society; I'm high but I'm the one to blame. For the differences and all the variety, I've built up in myself in pieces of shame. Everyone thought they kept me warm, But my ice heart didn't melt even an inch. Still, feel like running away after the storm, But I'm too cold to move or even flinch.