Trance

Burrow into a hole of once upon a time
let me be darkness and light
the light falls
the light falls so quickly that I felt no pain
as the rain washed it all away
for someday
like a lullaby
to obtain worldly freedom
for I wasn't given a chance
for they would be such lonely rationalities
and it was for such inspiring melodies
and hate and betrayal.

My life is all a lie.

My soul could not withstand such irritating attempts
to dissolve conflicts
for worldly issues are over with slaving attempts
to digest criticisms.
I will not and will never be given
a chance to live anymore
a change for me to change
for I am such a hollow spirit,
deep beneath.

Intricate decisions
instigate wars and hatred and betrayals
for time in itself is unworthy
of such a depressing time
it is a time of depression
for all of us
for we could never betray us
for we could never betray them
...
it is I who want to revoke
the feeling of remorse
...
...
for they all will understand
that this world is nothing
but a mere misunderstanding
...
but then I don't get it
why me
why of all people, me
...
because I disregard human attempts
and lead to disgrace
and I wield disgusting power
and I surrender to society's chances
and I will soon vanquish
for no one can control me
for no one can lead me
into a disordering fantasy.

Transition Through Time (Verse II): Observation

I am a silent observer of life and death.

Life is but a long tunnel,
never ending and never relenting
to us walkers of a reversing road,
to us bearers of a deterring load;
lone, lone walkers.

The mysteries of life and death,
boundaries of justice and injustice,
are but mere terms mentioned by walkers:
those who couldn't keep up with life,
as life is a poisonous road;
those who tried to break the walls,
which are shielded by the disgrace of runners.

Runners who are different and outpaced us.
Runners who are universally respected and loathed.
Runners who are not one, not several, but countless
hibernating fragments of our minds;
we can never perceive fear,
for fear is an illusion of a slow walker.

Life and death were brothers,
tranquilly resting in the midst of dancing grass.
But the poor walkers trampled the grass,
chasing after the poorer runners,
breaking life and death apart.

Running from reality
while being chased by a walker of truth;
this is a challenge that none could handle,
for we can never confine death,
as death is the only rule of life.

In the most optimistic sense,
I look forward to a time
when walkers may overcome life's riddle;
a meaningless riddle;
the perfect riddle.

Suicide

(This entire prose is a metaphor, it does not mean to represent an actual intention of suicide.)

This is me, who fathomed life as pitifully beautiful.
I have brought upon myself, a life of two bends.
I will have thought about the consequences;
of a darkened shallow life,
as life itself is rather interesting;
I understand that.
A life of meaningless decisions and hopeless interventions;
a life of shivering whispers and moping transitions;
there are only two.
I repent;
I only have one life.

As a core of me weakened when I died,
not fully destroyed but merely weakened, as I said;
for you will never believe life after death,
not in a different body, but the same physicality.
Not that I could never convince myself,
but that part of myself served us lies,
for death itself could never comprehend itself;
it could have wished for death upon itself.

For my conscience killed me until I died;
again, you will never believe my words.
I will repeat,
conscience killed me until I died.
This is similar to a parasite,
killing me repeatedly, even after I'm dead,
until I lose every ounce of will to live,
and that's when I truly died.

Life and death is like a game;
I always win,
and my reward will always be death.
Repetitive.

Transition Through Time (Verse I)

Life is a riddle;
a riddle that spawned puzzled stairways;
stairs leading into a tunnel of time;
a time which never begun;
a time which never ends.

I sat and observed life;
a dead clock ticked past twelve,
past thirteen and fifteen,
seventeen and nineteen,
and twenty-four,
skipping all in-between,
in accordance to human lore.

Walking past an empty hallway
of sacrifices in a darkened morning.
I'd left myself standing by the doorway;
if this tunnel will ever stop mourning,
when will it ever stop crying?
An empty space shedding tears
is to all of us,
a useful machine with broken gears.
And now the hallway is filled with gears,
which are all rusted and busted;
which were originally tools of fears;
which will be swept and dusted
by a cheerful sweeper
and a dying gatekeeper.

The walls of time soon cracked;
they crumbled into pieces
and they stacked
to form only vague pieces.
An everlasting riddle of time;
is the only riddle
which is worth a fraction of my time.