Thy, brethren, doth produce this account. Twice a fortnight only to pass and be it, I am an outsider. So pedantic are they, feting about in their citing. I, but a widow amidst these lands. But a meager soul, a menial use for existence. Should it be that the prosperous do thicken? Their stoles and baggage reaps adhere the loose unwinding trail. And the dead trees of the west fade with a passing glance? Panic grieves the washes in the Nile. Water itself as turned to dust on the brim of the closing shores.
Alas, might it not be so? Heaved upon the brightest hope, a glistening to be shan't.  But mustn't it! I turn to myself for good riddance and it is all I have to give. When I stepped back to examine the followings of my brothers and sisters, I could respect, but not feel.

Tapering thoughts for a tapering soul. It can melt you from a haughty plight to the sand. To the stones I cry! And.. Billowing echoes they feign, alarmed.  I see them fish from the sky to us earthly dwellers; fixating on a screen we beseech. They must sit there it their lofty halves. I implore you, oh dishevelled one. Your mask is a lovely one. Yes, to that I will agree I am.  But what we must make of it in an undulating bough. Rolling and rolling down upon itself. To a brink that it may see again.

He doesn't know, but his will is strong enough to see. Unlike all the others. He has found himself, but not even he or I knows of what. He follows the hills and reaps all the tranquillity of the night. He is an ambiance. A force, and I will never know him. He is the wind and the still. He is the shadows and the light, the darkness and the colour of the day. Half happenstance did we meet. And half willingly do we greet.

That I may be concerned with the world around me, I fade into a mist. But I know nothing of it, for it plays with the ways of my soul. My sorrows etch the wind, and cut into the pieces that I am. I can finally see, as I bring myself down. I see everything I am, for what I am not. I see everything I could do, but will never. And a whirlwind finds me in the depths of my enlightenment. It throws me to the rocks and fights.
Must I be conventional, must I claw after society's ideal?

To be loved, Oh but to love.

Must they be separated souls?
No, a cauldron as they synthesise to a boil.

Such is this.
A reckoning to be bled
Heights confined
Consistently following

A peace to see
The sky to breathe
Fighting the wake of time
Over a listless siege

They may cry
Little over and over
They beckon
Simply shaking amidst me

Distance bearing
Are you to see?
Not that I wont ever
This that I need...

Shadow me grief
Mountains to thee
Not, to only escape
Tortuous thrust to cleave.

Hating... hating...
A line I cannot see.
To but find you
Perchance assuming.

Those whom frown upon internal communication simply are not entertained by it themselves. Now. You, over there. The one that left me indirectly but direct enough to scar. Yes. If you have any place in reality you have no place with me. Any connection, feel to, or breath in this actual world, and you are but a dust. Not even a piece, just a dust. But, how dare you think to compare yourself to anything of importance. Question  yourself, as long as wished. Upon me you mustn't. For the wind can sometimes blow even the nonexistent being. Beware; sometimes, I make love to my own soul. And it's beautiful. I can watch my mind lop around inside of my being. And with it my voice rescinds any notion it has for itself! Only to a fault, and versing in the oscillations of my mind. Close your mind and write you fool. You can't, see, only he can. Only he will, ever will. To forever he will. Stretching a camp to and from the frolics I seep skin deep. An eternity, and I will stand by what I mull over in my consciousness. A faint notion, perhaps, but a grave feel to this life I must have, and I will have. Goodness to the world, and it cries back. Heated! Like an autumn refugee, bitter, as the lifeless leaf, itself fettering. Gaunt are you, with a liege of blubber; acquisition feting! Whom, now to have the best of these, only a peculiar type such as thee. I needed you, such as you needed your impending fate. Neither of which will ever come, but are to die swiftly with the passing of a second. Literally. Okay. Maybe a minute. I'll give you that. I shouldn't have wasted more than a second however. But for what you cause me I take so much more.

Oh how, say it, me again, and here. For the ever and away I spell you a finding. To ever, and you, but a stop to this. Never! I love you. Maybe. I can never make what my mind is of. Why try? I pull myself apart, on purpose. Perhaps an ending to this confusion. Perhaps a discovery in the midst of this. Happenstance! What is the end if never the hunt? I beg of thee, as I beg of me. Escape yourself, come into the relics of time and the osculations of such. With me. Of me. And now I must leave. Moonlit soul. I will treasure you as I treasure my own. Mysterious are we, but it to be the fun of existence. Like the ash thrown to the waves, and spread to a nonexistence. You stay, even if invisible. You will always float among the waters of my fragmented subsistence.  

We spend our whole lives trying to feel something. We also spend out whole lives avoiding feeling something. Whether we like it or not the meaning of our lives is abstract. This is something evolution cannot explain. Evolution doesn't know what art is. How can it? The purpose of evolution is to better the species. On the contrary, if one goes about his life in a successful mannerism and dies with billions to his name, he has lived a cold and bitter life. So many want this because they can see it. So many want this because they crave respect unhealthily, abnormally, and obsessively. Not many want what they cannot see. Not many want what they think not to be real. But this is what we need. It is what our nature is trying to tell us we need.

There is nothing quite like the feeling of rain on a summers day, or the smell of fallen leaves in the autumn. The sounds, the feels, the tastes, the expectations and doubts, everything that we know and love, everything that we hate and despise. All of it, working towards a burning inside. A knowing, a willing, a happenstance to peace. Everything of it, and more.

I miss you. My stream lined existence has escaped me. I wonder of you, I wonder at you. I don't know anything. To myself, Let me fall away please. Let me fade. How many personalities does a person like you have? That only one or a few are exposed at a time? From each and every rhizome you have planted; another ten or so, escaping you, and wandering around into the souls and thoughts of those around you. Have I only the few weeks of the only pleasant stem? From for it, death and a seething cry. I've never played your game before, and now I realize how real it is. In fact I was even just playing a game with you until I realized what I was starting to feel. It tore myself apart to know that I had to relieve myself of you. I never wanted to, oh for all I knew I was going to drop you when you became tiresome, or I became bothered. For once it didn't happen that way. For once I felt weak. Weak in your arms, do you know what you made me? Afraid. How could I feel that way? When I realized I had let my guard down it was too late!! I knew what you were all along, and I thought I could handle it. I suppose I thought it would be more fun to play with a bad boy. Well, in the end it never is. I beg of you, to stop being. But that in itself is a sadistic request. I would never wish of you your life in taking mine. But I beg it the same. I must leave myself, it is the only way.

Help me explain this, that I may. Whisper it to me softly, and I cave. He ought to have known, but he never would have taken it to heart. Now I sit here, a stare, cursing the wind. How it listens to me! Oh, never but at once. They say you've taken yourself, and to the paths you tread. How, they say these awful things.. That you may know of love, but never infatuation. How can we chose our instincts? Only a thought of risen bearing. Many a ways to believe this subscript. You never will. So elegantly, my soul has its way. Unfortunately, or perhaps fortunately, quality is inversely related to amiability... As much as it doesn't make sense, and as much as people don't understand. Forcibly, the wearings take their greed of the standpoint. They don't know where they went wrong, but maybe they prefer the latter to be mistaken. Perhaps they enjoy others toddling them in their misery.

No one, not even for a second. But had they amassed I should be silent. Be it so, and my fever discourses this fare. To a surge, a sounding cry. Like a confession, this dark day's crime. Counted, thereof but a shrivel. Naught to a finding, for sore the shallows doubt. Goodbye my friend, much, lest forever doth proceed.

Must I play these games with myself? Lest they aid in my desolation, I need be informed. I laugh at this, I am where I said I would never be. I have none but an existence. Every turn I ache with bitterness. Another sapling, that he may be afflicted to my course. Another lie, that it may ring the heights this soul fetters. All of it. Escape me. He didn't know, but you, you knew. Oh, finally someone worthy; but why you have to code your disinterest intrigues me. A lifetime away and it wouldn't cease... But I may...

And that I may! A quick blow to the side, a weathered bliss of panic. Sieging the steeples of any religious offering... Time and time again.

Your presence is blinding, for only the wind you may confide. With the stillness you breathe, you have consumed yourself. You capacitate everything you are. Must I see nothing? Only to know this, that you have saved me from myself. I need not be so oblivious, but my senses leave me. I don't know much, how can I? But to purge thyself of any feeling, else let havoc take its course. Logic must refine itself to a grain, compacted and enclosed; not to wander into the abyss of disregard! You steadily seem unsure, emitting a fragrance never to touch upon a scent. I have to refer myself to the verse that relieves my insanity. I constantly wonder what would have happened if I got into his car, or his, or his...
But no. I wait here for something that will never happen.
Why? I need a reason to run to the desert....... I also need a reason to stay here.

I ask for peace, but I know of that to be a frailty. I am fallen, betwixt myself. The inseparable feeling plagues me. Am I never to know? That I may fix myself upon a willingness to... But a far sighted plea. I am afraid, for which I fear of. He, oh a similar notion to the thoughts that so desperately fold. They hold on to the wind, like a feather are they swayed. Dancing, the reason seems to disappear itself.

This used to be my escape, now it is my home.
They move me; their arrogance depicts their power. Forever a time will I cease to see this, ever. But willingly I wear their eyes, willingly I dissuade my own self, but I don't even notice it. Wouldn't you rather live in the beautiful land of what if... A desire once executed is never as great and perfect as the imagination once may have willed it to be. Something meant to happen will happen, forcing things that shouldn't happen is only good for amusement... Anything you can hold onto and know it will never amass to your expectations, is something you should prohibit from trying to reach your expectations. But what of love?
What if, underlying all the prospects and factors of a thought, resides someone? What if they stay there- provoking themselves, into an unabated chaos. The residue of this chaos, a heartbeat. How is one to know this feeling past their cat?

As Vidha realised the situation she sucked up all the disolved oxygen her gills could possibly hold and thrust herself into the melody. Aitahei and Hihmele were already engaged in lahvehlte but Vidha didn't care, she took her necklace and stamped it into Aitahei's heart and began the recourse. Hihmele hissed as she drew her kaoimle and drew the spell of darkness, lavehcti. "aee bhee luh nuhculisaa!" she belted at the tip of her head voice. Dark fog surrounded the palace in and through the corridors. "Aitahei, it's me" Vidha gently touched her love and a green light surrounded them. He suddenly woke up out of his trance and felt the pressing darkness of Hihmele, "You, you decieved me, wretched lilthmeki!" he yawned, and fell into a deep sleep. "Too late" Hihmele pounded evilly and smiled her stench smile.

The seconds turned to hours and the melded with the days. A darkness impeded Vidha's thoughts and dreams. She couldn't sleep without feeling the wretched horror that haunted her every disposition. Allelithethe was gone and Vidha had no realization of what was going on in her life but just went into a deep sleep inside of her soul and put her body on auto-pilot. She couldn't feel, she didn't want to. The only thing she longed for was sadness because that was the only thing that could touch her. The trance she put herself in was just the beginning of the weeks to come of numb living. She would wake up in the morning out of her bed, and hold her breath until she felt suffocated sometimes, then gave up and fell back on the elegantly decorated clam-shell. The waves in her hair even felt sorry for her as they resided on the sides of her face in ragged, thin scraps of lifeless dead skin cells.

Some people don't believe in the power of psychology, that's only because they have never experienced its worth. Imagination can stay in its mental, dormant state, but to some people, it's alive and physical. Is it just the mind that can home a thought, a feeling, a desire, or can they be provoked physically out of thin air? Psychologically, anything is possible. This is what makes people go insane, this is also what makes people define sanity. The mind has no limits, but only if you let it. I have this theory(because I'm lazy) that everyone gets the same out of life. Everyone experiences all of the good, and bad, that everyone else experiences. Everyone has limits they can handle, and each of those thresholds is met with every existence. If one is born into an environment with certain expectations, they will either fail up to this environments limit, or succeed up to this environments limit. Everything around you are the factors that determine you. There is no such thing as luck, and everything is already predetermined, from the moment you took your first breath. This, of course invokes laziness on my part, and sort of defeats any kind of progressive thought or action.

I can take everything away and I am still left over with more than I had started with. Too many nights, too many sleepless nights. I concentrate on anything, and it defiles me. I disgrace my presence, always, and I hope to bear a thought of simplicity. That must never reach me. I will never be. I have come to this place out of daze. I wander around my stumbling turns, and I fade aloof, I am pushed into these vices. The fright, the clawing, jiving, teething, piercing file. Vie to the east of the west, a fault in times threshold. Taken upon me, my jaded being, and with the fire, the echoing shadows amidst the burning, and they scream into the depths. A day has passed, what of it?
I just... Don't understand, and I don't think I want to.

The only person worth staying for disregards my presence, mentally, physically, and anonymously. So I must leave this place, and take with me only my lost memories of a time before. I have ended myself at the base of this reality, now I search a light far beyond my knowledge. I should have known, anonymity will only chastise our realities. I can never get that back. Forgive me, for my mind and words have the tendency to overpower my physical presence. My mental state reprimands me, my body, and forsakes any inch of forthcoming. My spirit is dark, dark enough to see. And my soul, oh my soul, it aches with a beating, it drowns. A fire so untrusted, a passion mounting the blood in my veins. You must carry yourself away, and when I leave, seek retribution. To you, the other, please don't show your face, or at least gouge my eyes out. I don't trust myself, and I never will, but I trust you when you acknowledge your intellect to be the inverse of your aesthetics. Leave me, leave me in wonder. After all, a lifetime of a voice that loves you is better than a lifetime of a picture that hates you.