memories punished him

Fighting to free himself, evade the present he lay still; trying not to understand he forced his mind to flee and escape the horror. The silent shrieks nonetheless flowed along him meddling with his life, his hopes and the spirit of what was left inside. The heart and mind screeched in unison hoping worthlessly against the pull of the present. Fog of constant dread seemed to flow through him penetrating the very essence of what was him. Pain gushed through him, a collage that was his life dipped in memories of cries and regrets. He shook coming to terms of what had become of him, the remnants of dying laughter still rose from the lands around him drowning him into a sea of despair – regret.

Time had been, searching through shredded horror strewn under the darkness he searched. In foray of a ray, a direction and desire he rummaged through battlefields lost. His needs fed on hate, on the pain he had seen. Coming to terms with what had been, destined to find an answer, the tide had to turn; he had to battle the inequity of fate.

ensnarl

He wanted to dive into an ocean, feel the water rushing past him. He wanted to feel the support – the buoyancy. It had always felt as if he was tied down by heavy weights; longing for freedom of the burden that was upon him, lightness was what he wanted to experience.

His mind seemed to have lost all agility, all freedom and longed for freedom, the desire for an ease, a release, a gentle flow grew within him. But light did not shine a solution never seemed to come. Tied in his own existence, by the doings of the world he struggled, it felt as if until the end of time

love you in your pain

blast open a head, bang it straight onto the wall, to hear the cracking of his skull, feel the warm blodd flowing through my fingers.

To kill somebody becaouse he dosen't just feel right, assert myself, my likes and dislikes through pain and fear etched into the life of others.

My hatred for the world grows each day and hatred for you,i will abuse you, will fuck up with your world. Will rip apart all you worthless fuckers, you give me no reason not to do so.

I want power control NOT love, I hate, I want. you to change into what i'd want you to be.

In your fall, in your death, in your pain I will love you.

hi again,

I fucked up again. Kinda like the story of my life. Something struck me while I was looking around for a card ( Another Luxury Gandhinagar cannot present to you -- good greeting cards). If I could be better in any terms it would have been alot better talking to you. I feel lost for words, stupid, Anti-humourous and all the other things required of a person you are conversing with . I think I say this because i want to feel sorry for myself, but so be it, i'm not deleting anything. I'm allowing the thoughts in me flow out through my fingers just to see what i mean.

Well all this shit above you can skip it. I think you could skip rest of the parts too. But still i put them to you.

As I say that the hollow of my mind reverberates with strange questions. Why am i writing this. I am a narcissist. I somewhere deep inside believe that some idiot will like what I am putting down at that moment.

Somehow I want to belive that in the future, however distant, but one day my life and what I have done with it will mean more than what it is today.

Why are we here to just crawl a few steps in pain and wastefulness and then die. Is there no greater cause for me. I guess that is the reality. But fuck reality I want to be happy, I write this having full faith in the greatness and purpose of my being.

I could be usefull, people tell me, if I were focussed, if I was organized, they say that I am intelligent, I can do well if I work harder. That is my problem, I don'
t work hard, I can not work hard. I wander from topoc to topic and read few pages from, every book to move on.

I have no solid background of anything, I can speak shit about ten thoudsand different things but not sense about one.

I must hav purpose. Is there no space for people like me. Who do not focus, who wander about.

Who cannot walk from one room to another and pick up a book. because they stop to something to eat instead, or are never on time for dinner, cause they realized that the song playing in the car was worth completing.

retrenchment

Staring at the visual images on the screen across the room, he was feeling something he had never known before. His mind wandered, his body hurt, longing for a contact, his heart pushed against his ribs to break out of captivity. His body went cold yearning for warmth, the fluid of life oozing out of his upper body. He did not trust his feelings, nor did he need any support. The path he had to tread was marked out. The goals that were so clear were lost haze, their importance and validity questioned.

He warped his arms around himself hoping for warmth, the pain only grew. Life had now through his misery thrust upon him a weakness that made beings of his kind potent to overpower the creator itself