writing dreams

81.

15/12/2015 - "impulse" - 07:28 p.m.

seismic eruptions disperse inside the lonesome thought of humanity, the deceitful pain and sorrow that burst into behemoth flames. that torment that resides inside the hearts of the lost that can't seem to find its way out. embedding their nails into the stitch work of the seamstress. every seam sewn and scrutinized under the looking glass. the reflective distortion that shows onto the gritted fabric depicts the hurt from those who seem to care.

the ones who felt the audacity to terrorize what you truly love in amiable adoration. that burrowed pest that eats away the flesh one by one, tears through ligaments and tendons and whatever else seems to lie underneath. that which we can't quite see, is what leaves the mystery. the mark of the world that threw away the remnants of what seemed to be your life.

dancing melodies of the broken hearts sing out in agonizing beauty. the frail thought that puddles up neatly around your heart. that simple pounding noise that pulses through your arms and neck. that clamor that vibrates inside your body is not just a human response, but the puppet master that holds the strings collides the thin lines causing you to wake up from your dream-like state.

the eyes that look over the world and seek out the broken are the eyes that hold the fate of everyone in their palms. the dullish glimmer of light shines brightly among those who don't see the next day.