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...

Imagine an age, an era, cramped into a single moment. We're bridges and buildings, burning, falling, rising, touching skies then falling again. Nothing remains forever. But the remains are forever to stay. It's an age cramped into a single moment. It's in one moment, which you pick up your pen. Inside you, you dust off the corners of your brain, search for the right words, the right depth, the right freefall. For that spot on the paper, which will be the beginning of your story. Blink, blink again, or close your eyes altogether and feel your soul searching, picking, and scratching in your flesh to find the right idea, the right treasure. Drink. Drink while you still can, drink everything you see. Drink the emptiness of the glass, the whiskey bottle, there is still some inspiration wandering. Drink the smell of your ink; drink the feel of the paper against your palms. Drink the passion of the love you just made. Search for more. You're still thirsty. Yo...

Inside Out. I'm running. I'm running, so fast that my breath is louder than my footsteps. I have no time to tumble. Behind me I see people shouting at me to run faster, telling me how proud they are of me. In front of me, I see my heroes, waiting to grab me and pull me to a place beyond this soul crushing forest. Sometimes I don't know what I am running for. It's like I'm running, looking for places where I can heal, but with every mile I keep losing bits and pieces of me. Often, I get scared that at the end, there will be nothing left of me. That one day I will reach the mountain top but when I look at myself I will see nothing. Nothing at all. Is it worth it? One day, I will not be scared of death. I will let it feast on me and happily remember all the times this body has helped me, betrayed me. But for now, I'm a coward. I don't yet want to meet my inner self. This side of me has done too many wrongs. I have though, explored myself in so m...

The Person Behind This Person Dear Friend, I'm trying to be myself. I'm not yet there. Over the years I have looked at this body, these words, these possibilities, through other's eyes. Mirrors cannot penetrate deep into my soul and show me the real me, and neither can you. You have yourself to take care of first. I am a mere creature, whose body is relaxed peacefully on this chair, but whose soul has been aimlessly wandering through the streets of this city for years, hoping, that maybe today it would find its true identity. I wonder how I am. I have not met with myself, someday, though, I will. I will meet myself lost in time, sometimes looking for scissors to chop off my rough edges, other times sharpening my soul. I will meet myself, grab shoulders, shake myself up and look straight into my own eyes. I want to see me. How am I? Why do I never get tired of this question? Why do I always want to hear from people about how I am even if I know their answers? W...

The undecided being Our tracks were never made. We will never make them either. Paths aren't  created for others to walk on. And no one, I swear no one will ever walk the same path that you have. Our lives are as vast as this land. Our paths will be just the same way. Do you make your path to walk on? You don't. You don't have a path. You don't build one. You don't follow a trail. Life was never about having a path. Life was always, always about getting lost. But life was never about losing your purpose. It was never about looking at your past or future. Life is, and will always be, about finding peace. The true meaning of existence, of becoming a human. Why do we spend hours trying to figure out what is wrong with us? Why don't we stop in the middle and realize that life is just a part of the existence? That mistakes are not worth sobbing over if we don't have much time? Do you know how close you are to death? Do you realize how morta...

The Gray Side. It's the horizon that I want. Your horizon. Your black and white side, I've seen them. If I haven't, I have felt them. I have felt their power, I know, at least a little, of what they are capable of. Your demons. Your angels. Locked up in opposite corners of your soul. They know me. I don't know them. I don’t know if they look at me with anger or patience. But they have seen me, through the bars of their cage. They have figured out what I am. Who I am. Or at least, how I am, from the outside. I want to, NO I have to, See your horizon. Your gray side. I have to see your gray side. Where your angels and demons meet. Where there is no wrong or right. Where you're peacefully numb, where you're happily lost. Where you're not what others see. Where you're exactly what your eyes tell me. Where you don't take a step back or run to me if you find me. I want to see your gray side. I'm not me. I have neither angels, no...