Origin of Thoughts

Kiss your shoulders. Raise your hand and suck on your wrist, to know how it feels to be loved. Wait for the goosebumps, then slowly let them rest on your cheeks. Noone will know what happened. The day ends, the light rests on the hills, just like that girl's head rested on the boy's lap, you know, just a while ago? And when they closed their eyes the night was declared. Will they ever know? Clickety-clack. Your heels have made their last noise for the day. The room is just how you left it in the morning. What will you do to see the chair, maybe a little on the left? Maybe a few strange and warm wrinkles on the bed?  You're home. Someone needs to know that you're home. Your heels made noise. Someone needs to hear it.  You burnt your dinner. You wore your sweater inside out. Your socks don't match.  Noone will ever know.  And the only sound that will drown the noise of you chewing, is the sound, the terrible shreak of you, acc...

Because I can't feel my legs anymore. They're dangling on the floor of a room miles away, where they wish to be. Not here. They were not meant to be here this long. Fingers try to make castles out of the humid dry air. Nothing. The dark is blinding. And I see everything. That's why it all mixes up into one single colour. The colour of the world. And you think I can't see a thing. And my mind? You ask if my mind was in the right place? Could you point me out where it is actually supposed to be? Is it supposed to be dangling on the butcher's where all of you have laid yours? Have you thrown it to the sea because you wanted to start clear? You know where my mind is? It's in the middle of a bridge. One side of it leads to your reality. Another leads to my home. Tell me where I should go.

Break to dust Do you like being lost? Everyday I see your nest getting thicker and your wings growing smaller. I see your sleep less peaceful, eyes more guilty. I see you, more amused by others than by yourself. I see you, looking at yourself more closely at the mirror, wondering what is wrong with you.   Everything is. You aren't a human. You have yet to become one. Why do you keep searching for your home? Why do you want find someone else's touch on your skin? Why do you want someone else's eyes to see your own self? Why do you try to find your essence in someone else's lips? Why do you feel incomplete when you aren't even a whole? You have no home, love. You are meant to be lost. You're meant to be pushed, pulled, loved, crushed, broken and built. Because in all of these highs and lows, you will find your horizon. We are but scattered pieces of a single energy. It's up to us, whether we pull ourselves together to find ourselves, or we le...