Origin of Thoughts

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...

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...