Beaten

In the middle of a vast sea, an open ocean. Feelings flowed free in the immensity of it all, so much so that they were lost in its own depths, sank infinitely deep into the abyss, and embedded themselves into the folds of black silk. Shivers tore violently through those who dwelled in it, and she was one of them. She looked up at the sky, as jet and seemingly uninviting as that which surrounded her. A single star twinkled in the distance, flaunting the glory of its emitted perfection. It took up all attention in the canvas of the night sky. She wondered what life could be like outside of the blackness of it all. What it could be like to feel so alive, what it could seem like to shed that rigid shell which shackled her that was transparent to everybody she ever came in contact to but was as opaque as a brick wall to her own self. She was bleeding outside-in, and nobody could stop it, and the brine of the black ocean of her surroundings and everybody in it seemed perhaps serpentine in a sly, cunning manner. As liquid needles,  reality struck, slithering into her already-deep wounds and she did not escape the feeling by screams or cries or asking why but instead she accepted that this was her fate. And without further self-pity she bled perpetually from her rawest flesh that was exposed to the outside world and everything seemed to collapse in on itself all at one time but hope was nowhere to be found in the shape of a person, place, or thing.

Turgid and raw, her chest swelled with unknown and unnatural curiosity.

Safety was not in a person. Safety was not in a place, or a thing, or a being on this earth.

"Shine Bright"

Because only with pressure and time can the worst become the best. The soot, the lowest of the low - the very dirt in the ground, that which you step on on a daily basis without a care in the world - it undergoes a strange and beautiful metamorphosis. The more pressure it is put under, the more pain, the more experience, causes it to it gather its courage, deep in the ground where one would least expect it. There, in the midst of all the fury, a diamond has formed.

Holy Fool

"That hooker prostitute wench vomits her mind"

And it was Love.

The magnitude of love she has is ridiculous. Absolutely ridiculous.
No, he can't be real, she said.

It's as if their two hearts were created together. As if god put his in one half of the mold, and hers in the other, and shut them together to set so that the shape was complete only when they were side-by-side. It's almost like He tore them apart, placed them in a boy and a girl and put the fairytale in the tender hands of fate. The hearts would find each other.

And so came the moisture, ebbing and flowing nonstop from the very eyes he gazed into every night. She was undeserving, and she knew it, and she wanted to break her gaze from his so that he could set his eyes upon something equivalent to his perfection. Oh but he had placed his hand in her heart and she had not taken care of it as she promised she would. It made her cringe and it made her sick to her stomach and she prayed all the time that he would see this and the illusion of angelic perfection would finally be gone. But every day, the illusion got worse. She wished he saw that she was not at all what he was under the impression of but of course even if the sinful thought lingered for a second in his imagination he would dismiss it as irrelevant.

But the passion they had, together, it was unmatched. It was not something that could be re-created, mimicked in any form. The passion they had was red-hot and it was a flame that set the world ablaze with its depth and horrific perfection and everybody knew it as well. It was fed by the emotions that bled from their hearts for each other; for him it was his love and his sadness and how much it hurt but for her, oh it was love and cruel torture of the mere thought of her undeserving nature. They both knew it well but what was shed from their hearts fed the hungry fire that licked and writhed and glowed up and down and across their worlds to the point where it blinded them from any other sight and all they knew was their passion for each other. And it was love.

Winterson

"The Passion" - These struck me as truth.

"Hopeless heart that thrives on paradox; that longs for the beloved and is secretly relieved when the beloved is not there. That gnaws away at the night-time hours desperate for a sign and appears at breakfast so self-composed. That longs for certainty, fidelity, compassion, and plays roulette with anything precious.

Gambling is not a vice, it is an expression of our humanness.

We gamble. Some do it at the gaming table some do not.

You play, you win, you play, you lose. You play."

---

“To kiss well one must kiss solely. No groping hands or stammering hearts. The lips and the lips alone are the pleasure. Passion is sweeter split strand by strand.” 

“Kissing in this way is the strangest of distractions. The greedy body that clamours for satisfaction is forced to content itself with a single sensation and, just as the blind hear more acutely and the deaf can feel the grass grow, so the mouth becomes the focus of love and all things pass through it and are re-defined. It is a sweet and precise torture.”  

Between Sex and Fear

Passion

Perhaps we fear it, perhaps we desire it. Perhaps we long for it, just as choking lungs long for even a brief gasp of oxygen. Perhaps we despise it, perhaps it disgusts us. Perhaps it revolts us, perhaps the thought of it churns my stomach chyme to the point of exhaustion. Maybe you don't want this. Maybe you want everything but this. Maybe only those who know of it, know about it, and those who know about it, know nothing of it. Butterflies plague your stomach. The joy in gambling is not the prize, the joy in gambling is the edge of fear. The possibility of loss, of putting everything you know on the line for something worth nothing. Perhaps we are addicted to the thrill of the danger. I know not of that which I speak upon. But if I did, I would know deep within the narrow confines of my heart that by God I should stay far away from it. It's tempting. Somewhere between sex and fear, riding the lapping waves of curiousity, waiting to either be submurged under pitch fear or lifted into vast and unknown splendor-

"Shine bright, as you were."

Only Seventeen, But She Walks The Streets So Mean

Buy her
Tonight,
She's still shining

Like lightning,
Oh like
Lightning

Glorified .

My heart was porous.
Engorged in black, suffocating
Collapsing in on itself
Piece by piece, he tore me apart
Until I remained simply a fragile framework
Of what I once was.

But slowly, surely, you came
Filling the gaps, one by one
With not blood, with not flesh
For I needn't what I last had.
You gave me something more - newfound
Light, shining with the valour of a thousand splendid suns.

Your caramel eyes, that warm smile
That all too soon, became a necessity.
Artwork of my dreams, paintings of my reality
Slowly, the picturesque fantasy became real to me.
You're all I have, you're all I need,
For to my future, only your heart leads.

Disillusionment

"It's coming down to nothing more than apathy.
I'd rather run the other way than stay and see
The smoke, and who's still standing when it clears."

But disregard your feelings for your past, your present,
Mold false hopes and dreams into realities of your future.

"Eight seconds left in overtime, she's on your mind..."

A dead end to your efforts, lose sight of the truth.
A fork in the road to your goals, your aspirations

Open your heart, let the memories bleed
For they but hold you back, and weigh you down indeed

Skrillex

Well it's awfully true when they say that curiosity killed the cat. Subliminally perhaps the knowledge is always there. What feels concrete, in my palm tangible, may slip out just as easily as I once came to grasp it. Never establish reality as truth. Never dismiss truth as fiction. Perhaps we always know the difference, somehow, some way. As well, however, one thing proves true. Reality is not concrete, not tangible. It is difficult to grasp. It is laced with lies, truths, deception, smiles masking tears, and tears masking smiles. Never be curious towards that which you should not be, because the future envelops tragedies and woes which would frankly have been better off hidden under the rubble of yesterday. Rubble that's been weighed down by each tick of the clock furiously chizzling away the time we have left in this seemingly-godforsaken place.

Ice

It's as if it's missing.
The most vital piece, of my most vital organ
Beating in its damned, disjointed rhythm

Drumming off beat, but music to your ears-
You would know that it's wrong.
So help me God, you would know that it's wrong.

"Drunk and I am seeing stars"

Brilliant
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Yu9V3Phfsf8

Purpose

to Live
to Inspire
to Feel
to Embody

Three years of suffocation
Concluded so suddenly,
I don't remember the taste of air on my tongue.
Its sweetness, nonetheless (perhaps ironically),
Took my very breath away.

And I'll dispose of it all the same.

Time heals no wounds
But a few.
The clock ticks by
Each time pulsing
Behind the raw scar of yesterday.

Oh where does bliss lie?
Perhaps impenetrable by
The syringes of my future
Blowing flesh away from that
Which hasn't yet healed...

Forgive me.
For I am nothing but a traitor,
Immaturity defines me at my peak
Synonymous to the beast of your denials:
Majestic, menacing...

Cold breath issuing from its dastardly lungs
Heaving trials and meaningless philosophies
Forward with every steady of its breath.
In again, out again,
You're nothing but a routine.

Raw

Maybe it's matter over mind.
Maybe i'll search but never find
Hurt but never die

Honestly, I'd rather die

False Hope

Eyes throb with blurred vision
Endless sunrise, a shimmering mirage
Could it be true?

No, it's a lie.
Blink once again.
Endless sunrise,
Dancing towards infinity.

Expectations,
Motivations.

"Seeing" is not "sight"
Until registered in the brain.
I refuse to believe,
I refuse to believe.

Our Loss, Heaven's Gain

Arsh I was never one of your close friends but that means next to nothing. Out of all those guys I initially didn't approve of, I have to say that you were definitely the one who seemed to have the kindest heart. I always wondered how you got your hair to stay like that, and how you made hearts out of sheesha perfectly every time. I won't forget the times that we drank chai, hated on my sister together, and I told aaisha that I finally approved of her friends. Yeah I never knew you that well, but it doesn't matter now, since I won't be able to, and the actions of one took you away from everyone who loved you. You were the only non muslim guy I'd ever heard of who gave his salam to those around him. You never drank, and I wondered how someone could have so much willpower at their hands. I hope God will grant you paradise. I hope that this changes the perspective of our entire city, all of your friends, and all of those around you. At the cost of your life, maybe people will think twice about drinking and driving, and maybe a couple more lives will be saved, all because of you. Rest in peace Arshy, we won't ever forget you. <3

http://www.calgarysun.com/2012/01/09/university-student-killed-in-crash-mourned
In memory of Arsh Brar, 1992 - 2011<3

You call it "a death by drinking and driving"?
I call it manslaughter.

The Rose

Well aren't we one of the same? We're different petals, nonetheless situated on the same flower. Oh we bloom simultaneously, and absorb the same rain. We pool our abilities to create an image of magnificence, one of elegance. Beautifully flaunting our capabilities, it seems, in stillness and tableau; nevertheless growing together, as always. But aren't we so different? Growing and changing ourselves, in such miniscule amounts, not even detectable by the naked human eye! How absurd it is to account for these changes...

Until we realize that these "miniscule changes" account for much more than we thought; alas, one petal must fall before the next.