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Lullaby

Go to sleep, my baby

Close your pretty eyes

We were just a passing dream

But we weren’t a lie

 

Go to sleep, my baby

Rest your wavy head

Upon the side of your pillow

That isn’t already wet

 

Go to sleep, my baby

Ease your troubled heart

It’s true, we were just a dream

But we were beautiful…

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Excerpts From the Backs of my Biology Notebooks

If a picture is worth a thousand words, are a thousand words worth a picture?

Perhaps. Flipping through the last few pages of my notebooks from my Biology class at school, the random rubbish I’ve scrawled across the pages combined with a few doodles here and there paint a picture that is kind of upsetting to view. The picture is one of my mind as I sit through hour after hour of these classes, and quite interestingly it seems to be taken by my mind.

Here below, I’ve typed out a few of the lines that I’ve written in my books. In terms of literature, my sincere opinion is that they are useless bits of utter nonsense that are almost like kitsch when read individually. However, juxtaposed as they are here, I’m trying to encapsulate the feeling of being trapped, of feeling helpless and not in control of the situation I am in, of being completely lost in a world that I cannot share with anyone else.

It’s kind of like creating an HDR effect, I think. But with words.

 

 

The Clock

The clock ticks in an inevitable manner

Slowly, almost apologetically

As if guilty of keeping track

Of every second of my life

Wasted, thus far

I look at its face, it gazes back wistfully

“I’m sorry” it whispers, barely audible

“I am no more in control of my destiny

Than you are of yours”

I understand now that clocks, like humans

Are bound by time

They too are slaves, are borrowers, of time.

 

 

Hostage

My mind has held me hostage for as long as I can remember.

How do you try to defeat an enemy that was once a friend?

One who is inextricably a part of you?

I want so desperately to scream out for help

But I am no longer in control of my thoughts and actions.

 

 

Is Reality Really Real?

I’ve built so many castles in the air. Castles in which I reside. Castles with no doors, and no windows. I’ve trapped myself in my own Inception. A dream within a dream within a dream within a dream within a…and now, there’s no way of coming back. You see, I’ve lost my hold on Reality. What is reality? Who is Reality? I repeat this question to the strangers that pass me by, and they all have varying opinions on the subject. Some describe the houses and trees miles below, and the feel of the ground beneath their feet. Some talk about human relationships. They say that is real.
Someone once told me that what we see is what we know and what we know is what is real to us.

I see tangerine trees and marmalade skies

I know of a girl with diamonds in her eyes

That, for me, is real. Reality is a field of cellophane flowers, a fleet of newspaper taxis, and a girl named Lucy.

This isn’t by me, but there seems to be a castle in that cloud, and my cellophane flowers are here too. And there’s Lucy. But she appears to be a boat.

 

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(Belated) Day 2: Words

As the words left her mouth
They did so with reluctance
As if sensing that the simple  sentence
Belied the magnitude of its meaning

Still, she wrenched them out, one by one
All the while reassuring herself
That “It Was All For the Best”

They pierced the silence as they fell upon it
Impregnating it with a sudden tautness
And then she saw, too late, that she’d hurt him

With her words.
Her foolish words.
Mere words.
Seemingly innocent and harmless.

Black symbols in a white speech bubble, that was all they were.
Words that her logical side perceived as a sensible idea
While her heart declared them to be seven shades of stupid.

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Tomorrow..

Tomorrow is selfish
She holds all the promises of the future
That wily, cunning child

Always a step ahead of me
Always beckoning to me
Teasing me
Challenging me to come closer

But every time I think I’ve found her
She disappears again
Into a place called Tomorrow.

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The Runner

The world is a racetrack, clear and straight

The chalk lines well defined

Life’s a race we’re running

Looking for that person we never find

Oh, but he’s right in front of me

In fact, the only thing my eyes can see

He’s running too, looking for someone

That someone isn’t me

The world is full of chasers

Who also are the chased

I’ve mistaken this never ending game of “tag”

For love, in my frenzied haste

Why can’t two people run after each other?

The answer is simple and sound

As any observer will discover

The racetrack is not round

I keep on running

Enjoying the game, believing the lie

But my head and heart are weary

I can’t go on, I try

So I stop and let the others carry on

It’s time to hang up my shoes

I wasn’t much of a runner, anyway

I only ran this far for you.