Lots Of Artist Sing About Love, Woe And Abstract Perceptions. Hovewer, I Propose To Sing About Mundane

The calm before the storm.

Waiting in vain, bound to a chair.

Is it me? or the walls are now green?

Why do dreams taste sweet?

Today is a new day, but I feel the same.

I try to run, but my legs just walk.

Why can't I write? Whom must I pray?

"She walked along the beach,

A small breeze made her dress swing.

She was alone, under the morning glow.

She was waiting for her friend to come."

What shall I write? Which ink should I use?

I weep for I don't know.

I don't want to, but I need to punch the wall.

"Until an aparition came,

in the form of a yellow grand hotel.

A majestic sight stood erect over the waves.

Hypnotic, as if the hotel were calling her name."

I sight in frustation; I can't wait.

Maybe tomorrow I'll finish a play.

But today, it's difficult for me to rest.

Human leeches

You know one,

Those who fall up

They hoard your luck.

So you'd better watch out!

That gift or prize,

Will be taken away.

With their white smile.

So you'll suffer for them.

They love to be near you.

You'd better escape.

You can't beat them.

Karma will punish you instead.

They'll leave you empty.

And accuse you of envy.

Happy, they'll move on.

Leaving you with boiling blood.

I hate those summer nights

Such hardship is to write

When you have a knife embedded in your spine,

The bones passed the sentence this morning.

Myself is gone; no more soul coupling.

Waiting in the bedroom alone

A hot, wet night full of scars

Keep away from his poison; no more trouble.

While in bed, sweating, puking bile

All my life, the bones said in a grave tone.

I was submerged in the bitter black woe

A miracle of the agonizing fate

My deep cuts were in vain.

Ever since that November evening

I feel my open wounds becoming blue.

Once you notice it, you can't stop the hum.

And I should hold my puke whole.

How on earth might I change?

For I only knew pain.

The bones said I possessed the tools.

That I must try and always carry on

The happy word of the day would be book.

Diagnosis

The merry-go-round will not stop.

It's futile to cry; everything takes its course.

The storm is rough; it will stay for long.

Under the sheets, I hide from the screams.

I cover my skin in body cream.

My face is free, my conscience is clean.

My redention is nigh

She said, 'Everything will be fine'.

She offered her hands, but I didn't comply.

Linux: every time

Guide: follow this 3 simple steps!

Me: ok

Guide: step 1, copy this command a put it in terminal

Me: ok

Guide: step 2, copy this config template and fill it with your email.

Me: ok

Guide: step 3, run the test command on your terminal it should prompt your email with an OK! Message.

Me: press enter, [FATAL ERROR] on lime 36783, EVAL_RSA_ID == false.....

Me: ok, checks badly written documentation followed with obscure ask-forums with the same problem but with a small diference that doesn't apply to my case.

Me: gives up.

Several questions at night

Have you ever had an endless dream? illusions of being alive, Christine. Do you like the taste of lips in rouge? What kind of person do you take me for?

Have you ever looked in the mirror at midnight? Those eyes, like a starless nocturnal sky What did you see? I couldn't think. How on earth are those windows still intact?

I was trapped in a silk pink fabric. Abandoned in a corner of your room. Did you hear my heavy breathing? Or do you just sit there alone?

Reason is not your guide. It's pointless to sit and talk. Do you still have the time? Could you give me those hours back?

I opened the door and said goodbye. But you continued to cry. No more; I put the fabric over you. I will never use that reflective door.

What do you expect from you?

Fair dreams the maiden draw,

Awakened by regrets and woes,

She awaits some warmth.

Alone, she drowns in her own thoughts.

Her mind and heart wandered lo and fro,

Expecting, yearning to fill the void.

"C'est la vie, so long."

"I shall never forget you, 'amor'"

When the future comes, that'll be the words.

Now, she caresses herself in the bedroom.

From her flustered head,

Down to the twitchy toes,

Filling her body with long overdue comfort.

Writing dialog 2:

Two friends were drinking ice tea on top of a bridge, overlooking a dead road.

-"So... how was your week?" Asked Suzzane, mixing some sugar in the cold infusion.

-"Nothing out of the ordinary; I went to a cemetery," said John, sitting on the bridge's guardrail.

-"Thank god you didn't do anything weird! what happened? was someone you knew?"

-"No, the professor recommends that I see some scultures for my anatomy assignment," answered John nonchalantly, serving himself another glass of tea.

-"Let me get this right," said Suzzane, with a contagious smile. "When someone says sculture, do you think of cemeteries?"

She had a quirk when talking about something funny; she would move her hands as if they were a tennis fan, moving his head from one opposite side of the field to the other in mere seconds.

-"No, it wasn't my first pick; museums aren't cheap, you know." John almost choked on his tea. He was about to ask Suzzane about her week when suddenly heaven became real and in technicolor, a great roar could be heard from miles, John almost lost his balance from the guardrail, the silvery light became lighting shooting upwards, breaking that afternoon's peace in the valley, shaking bones, breaking glasses, and damaging eardrums. The rocket, the last wonderful thing humanity created, was now in high orbit, leaving a white, fluffy cloud where it once flew.

They were rigid, looking upwards, not in glee as Suzzane's little brother, but with disdain. The first rockets were a great talking point among the people of the valley, some sort of privilege and pride they share and show like a medal to the region, "They are close to the stars!!" Would said journalists but now it's more like a nuisance. The Mac's and Roudy's were the first families to leave, followed by the Carlson's and the Evans. Soon the grand majority of the town was a collection of empty spaces, lost in time while the future was roaring and flying no more than 6 miles from them.

Suzzane broke the silence.

-"The old tongues said that winter and fall were below 68 degrees, and that the rockets brought longer days and shorter nights." Said Suzzane contemplating the amber liquid flowing from the broken glass.

-"I went to the cemetery because it's quiet, no packs of people, no flashes, no laughs. I mean, what kind of museum puts on display bright colors and chalkboards? Cemeteries have that hidden effect on us; it's no place to be joking; it's solemn. A radiography of time, where different art styles and movements solidified for eternity, did you know that the real Gioconda was burned for her smile? Cemeteries have this aura of the past, the unbearable past, where all the bad, decadent, and violent were normalized, a place where museums go to die, where memories are set in stone, crimes and regrets are visible for you to be horrified or wonder, not only did I finish my sketches, I came with horrible conclusions."

But before John could elaborate, another wonder of humanity rose free from gravity. A deafening chorus made by millon dammed souls.

In order for something to prosper, other things or someone must be wretched.

-"I'm sorry about your father. I know things seem bleak, but he will get a job really soon." Said Suzzane, enveloping the broken glass in newspaper.

-"Thanks, it was a long week." John sighted, jumped from the guardrail to Suzzane, helped her put the glasses in the basket, and they started to descend the bridge.

-"My little brother is obsessed with space; he wants to be an astronaut when he grows up."

-"Good for him, I guess; at least he doesn't need to commute that much from here."

And they walked together, alone, in the middle of the dead road to their homes.

Saturday night rush

In the distance are neon lights. I hate those crowded pubs. Too much noise, too much chaos, and too much vigor Enough to shake your ego.

Someone taught me how to inhale. Without warning, the pretty lights overtake. Soon, I start to dance and lose my nerve. Everything seems to be a celluloid layer all over again.

Sweaty shapes and colors under the electronic sound invisible groping and hugs between my laughs Soon I'm all yours, both kissing on the latex couch. Hearing all the pandemonium inside my lungs

I found myself in your room, on your bed. Inside the linen sheets, deep in the embrace You are kindly talking about our future while caressing my head. I'm listening, letting my feelings for you finally rest.

Another depressing rant

Anything can happen under the cheery sun.

Someone lost a balloon.

Others their life

But most certainly, their smiles

A lot occurs under the clear blue sky.

Injustice, robbery, and arson

Someone jumped after losing his mind.

There are lots of posters asking for a missing son.

On this nice, warm day

Families are forced to move away.

Genocide, war, and famine are all around the world.

But there's always more show.

While birds are chirping and kids are laughing.

The intelligent missiles are flying

In some other place, an earthquake has begun.

Right now, lots of animals are prey of the commercial hunt.

There is so much work to do.

So much pain and indiference

What's the point? Is there any difference?

Then the madman is the one who lives alone.