Words Needing Music

Θέλω να σου μιλήσω μα δεν έχω τίποτα να σου πω. Τα λόγια ειπώθηκαν όλα. Και να μην τα ψιθύρισε κάποιος ή τα φώναξε, τα άκουσα όλα μέσα στο κεφάλι μου. Μόνος μου έκανα την κουβέντα μας. Ελπίζω να είπα τον ρόλο σου καλά. Μάταια ελπίζω. Καθώς αυτό που έχω στο κεφάλι δεν έχει καμία σχέση με σένα. Θέλω να σου μιλήσω μα δε σε ξέρω. Έχω να σου πω πράγματα μα δεν υπάρχεις. Δεν υπάρχουν τότε και τα πράγματα. Δε θα έπρεπε να υπάρχει και το θέλω. Το εγώ. Εσύ τότε; Εσύ τι θέλεις; Ούτε αυτό το ξέρω. Ξέρω τι θέλει το φάντασμα σου στο κεφάλι μου. Δεν μπορώ να βασιστώ σε ένα φάντασμα για να ζήσω. Τα φαντάσματα είναι νεκρικές ιδέες. Νιώθω καμιά φορά πως εγώ είμαι το φάντασμα. Αιωρούμενος σε ένα παρελθόν και μέλλον ανεκπλήρωτο. Θέλω να σου μιλήσω μα.. Είναι ο καθρέπτης ανάμεσα μας και δε μ' αφήνει...

Ready? Good. That was your last breath for a while. Here follows a sentence of unscrupulous constitution, frenzied delivery, indeed void of deliverance, having some sort of retroactive ponderance in thought yet weightless in flight of speed and assured in the righteousness of its litigiousness. Good job you pathetic speck. Does this literary opulence forge some false sense of foundation? Does such scrutiny, not act as such? All I know is I was shaking. Now I'm shaking less. Perhaps I'm just cold. Set the AC to warm. Still cold and lonely inside. I'm sorry I won't grant you a paragraph change. To communicate what's happening inside me, the stream must not be interrupted. This constancy of judgmental thought is bearable. It shouldn't be and I feel it. I'm just clueless to how not bearing it would be like. I'm taking a pity on you. Press enter. Done. It is hard. Having come to the logical conclusion of love many times but not the physical one. Perhaps once ...

Friday morning.  It was an unimportant Friday morning when I noticed my mind is keeping me hostage. The first draft of the previous sentence was: 'It was a great day when I was shocked to realize the powerful hold my mind has on me'. And that's the problem. Am I using MY mind to work MY fingers and type MY thoughts and feelings? Or am I being used by my mind to write grandiose sentences. Make gigantic general assumptions. Make sense of things based on comfortable notions of the world, stay safe, have my nice beliefs, stay stuck in my bubble of 'how things work'. Magnificence in eloquence so that he will admire me, she will accept me, he will care about me, she will love me. Bullshit... I have a powerful mind. Yey me. Not in the sense of its great and historious assumptions. Most of them are admittedly and obviously not helpful. But on its incessant working. I valued that, growing up. Always curious and excited to find out how things work. But my mistake was cementin...

I am unhappy .   I am with you .   I am unhappy I am with you .   I am unhappy , (I am) with you .   I am unhappy , I am (with you) .   I am unhappy . (I am with you . ) I am unhappy .   I am with you .   I am unhappy . ...

Hope disillusioned fades inside Screaming for light that's shining bright It's just your memory that lingers It's just.  Like wakeful dreams of angels' grief for innocence Rightful fight the plea for verity succeeding eras false Daring to profess and linger inside deepest dwells of love's reality I'm hailed victorious Yet I stand defeated  If only to stay alive I keep falling back to Null

It felt external It seemed an entity not me It howled from beyond the rainbow  But my love is my own A feeling A feathered promise of compassion And that's fine The only truth I can ever rely on The only part of chaos I know  The only conviction I want Enough with the musts Down with the shoulds Death to struggling to feel otherwise  The truth is I'm in love And if it causes pain? I'll accept it as I feel it. It's real. It's now. It's pain. It's ok. Of course it's painful, I'm in love alone.  I'm painfully in love...  And if it causes sorrow?  I'll embrace it as it's true. These are my feelings. No use lying. No point manipulating me or anyone or anything. No more struggling to feel 'as I should'. No more regret on my mistakes.  I'm sorrowful in love...  And if it causes happiness?  I won't be afraid it's fake. I won't be afraid it's conditioned on me being this or doing that. I won't fulfill my learned pro...

Honesty is a difficult thing. Not on it's own though. Being truthful or manipulative are just tools. Means to an end. And since every end is causated from a start, you must employ introspection to understand how and why you aren't being honest. To others. In the end, to yourself. It's all about fear. Fear of being alone. Misunderstood. Unsupported. Unloved. Disliked. Abandoned. Untouched. Ignored. Non-existent. You resort to acting in a way you don't even agree with. Your logic and morality clash with your longing for fulfillment. You hurt yourself. You hurt even those you deeply love. Even after understanding what true love is. Fears bred from childhood follow you around, or rather, you don't let go of their leash. Even while experiencing what you actually desire. You're still afraid. Your inner child convinced of love being ephemeral. Fear, everlasting. For that's what they learned. Their blank canvas painted with insecurities. Their palms handed over the ...