Author: Black

  • #8

    I am used to the changing perception of the time. The swing from watching waterfall to being under it, and as time washes me, I dream of being outside. Standing and watching, not noticing how my skin gets covered in dust. Becoming so cold and hoping water will promise me some warmth.

  • #7

    I am highly confused of why am I logging in here. Month by month it has been four, and I received many emails reminding me that this is going down for missing payment, but it’s still live and running.
    Is this some kind of reason? Because I haven’t been rhyming lately. It could be the noise that has teamed down and an old pony that takes most of my free time thinking.
    I don’t feel nearly as crazy as I used to be, nor I feel the charm of it. Feeling quite ordinary. I don’t appreciate that, but makes it slightly easier to be.

  • “13

    Blind eye scratching an eye, just gets other one blind too.

  • #6

    Eaten by the shade, and I am wondering about the nature of crooked branches growing back. Scars and broken boughs, overgrown by thick knots, are ready to be broken and burnt again. Putting aside books of how it should be, handed at the birth, there are no more guidelines, nor there are limits set by page corners.
    Made by my own flesh, I enter what was seen as no man’s land.

  • “12

    Is it faith or am I just lying to myself? Because the beauty of the ugly side starts to fade.

  • “11

    Second thought, the never appreciated mistress.

  • “10

    Somehow, something has been wrong, somehow, something begs to be wrong.

  • “9

    The play of strings, so gentle and so clear.

  • #5

    I undergo cycles of my life, probed by the sharp interceptions of my decisions. Braking speed limit becomes rather a choice than an impulse, and destination has become clear. Focus requires speed and perspective begs for a stop, the speed of an end makes me dizzy and I sweep for a backdoor.
    Exit out of the new corner sheds light on my heels and it’s a dangerful field to be lost at. Here, where dots from old stitches reveal the light of the past, movement comes naturally. If not this, it’s the next door.

  • #4

    There is a charm to insanity, and I very much sympathise with the idea of madness. So much to be discovered at the borderline. Can serenity be found in craziness?
    The uncontrollable and unpredictable buzzing, shouting and erratic movement, spontaneity in uncontrolled environment.
    How this all form a dance, a song or a piece of art? I am so curious, at what price does priceless come?