Ramblings

I

These lights always excite me, but also give some kind of sadness. The tint of sparky yellow twinkling in trillions, I felt like they're levitating me, I felt like I'm immersing in them. Then the sadness, because these are just some artificial lights hanging over there, waiting to be put off, nothing is coming out of it to ascend me with them.

Pulling the glasses down always excites me, but also gives the same kind of sadness. The gray strokes of wind with sandy scent brushing on me like lifting me up in the clouds. Then the sadness, because the glass will be pulled up and the air will be stuck again, and the wind out there will just be waiting to be stumped down.

Those dreams always excite me, but also give that same sadness. Those dreams bouncing around with life and soul and hope. Then the sadness, because the dreams were just waiting to be crushed, the life and the soul were just waiting to rot, those hopes were just waiting to puff away just like that. Here I am stuck in between the right and the wrong, thankful for the dreams spurting away into ashes, for the air imploding into the perpetual damp, and the light just being...turned off.

II

I feel like I'm stuck somewhere cozy that stinks, somewhere warm that rots, somewhere tiny that stiffens me, that squishes me in the squirming way, letting some ugly nastiness out but but it flows inward, dirtying me only, my soul only.

It's hard to explain, hard to understand, too big to ignore, too trivial to contemplate, like a dirty smelly clingy little insect, something that kills the vibe, something that should be shaken away and smashed, something that should not exist but screams it's sweet and silent monstrosity, something that blocks a beautiful storm of infinite possibilities, something that blocks a gigantic splash of fresh air of scents, something like death that halts something like a breezy open lively life.

Please make the insect go away, it doesn't need to die, it just needs to leave me alone and go, let that storm come to me, let that air come to me that I'm longing to breathe, let that life come to me that I'm longing to live, let that soul come to that I want to replace my existing weary one with. It's high time.

Please make it resolve, please give me an answer, please give me a yes, please give a sunshine to breathe, to dry my clogged tears, to moist my dusty rusty shattered muzzled heart, it's been long, it's been enough, let the coffin be buried and let a plant grow, let the last nail stay put not stinging it to the soul anymore, let the living live, not dying the undead anymore. Let the dying rest not strangling them with stinky life anymore.

III

A silent panic creeps on me, the recent celebrations are annoying me only, it's deeper than annoyance, but a shallow but hollow eerie lack of compassion, lack of feeling, rather, a whole bulk of feelings actually, a feeling that cancels out all feelings, a stinky deep flowy lump of disgust, repellant of anything good, anything happy, anything grateful.

I don't want, I can't bear what I'm fearing. It's a big no. That uselessness, that purposelessness, that lack of existence, that lack of value, I can't bear it. If it happens, if I'm too scared to execute something, too scared to diminish, probably I'll bear it, only waiting to ultimately die, only waiting for it all to diminish, but why would the universe be so cruel with me? What have I even done? I just dreamed? I couldn't help it, why punish me for it?

Nothing in my life had been influenced by anyone, I naturally happened to like stories, I didn't want to study literature to become the elite class, but become a part of stories, a part of the fantasies that I knew couldn't have been real, to make them at least feel real to me, I didn't want to be superior to anyone, I also didn't want to feel inferior to anyone as well. Where was I wrong? Family did things for me, paid for me, but nothing else. I dreamed my dreams on my own, I found ways to fulfill them on my own, just needed a push, only that became too expensive, as my dreams got labeled as whims only for them to not put up with the value of my life.

Now I see other people live similar dreams. I also see other people live my nightmares. The nightmares of depending on a foreign life disguising as their own, to fill the horrid hollow of their own. My inside is burning and I want to vomit something out that is stuck. Dreams are gone, and nightmares are being hardly pushed away, what am I doing, where am I going. I'm simply running away towards something that resembles the lost dreams, something that shields me from the nightmares. That's all I'm trying so hard for, waiting so much longing into the stagnant abyss, why does that have to be impossible, it shouldn't have to be impossible.

I was close, very close, I tried alternative that I lost. Those who boost up my dreams crushed them the same. Those who waved the flag of alternatives threw me away like trash. Now here I am, stripped out of any sympathy for those who are learning to smile in my nightmare, stuffed with malice who are living my whimsy dreams as their reality, here I am, denying my reality, waiting for something to start, probably with the only expectation to diminish one day.