| Sunday, February 27, 2011
void.
the purple piggy oinked 5:23 AM
| Saturday, February 26, 2011
i miss sec one.
i was stupid then, but ever so innocent.
truly believing that something awesome could be achieved,
yeah, stupid.
but the smiles were ever so happy.
bring me back?
one of the only posts where i admit my existence, i must say.
wonder.
the purple piggy oinked 6:45 AM
|
it is a minor word, too insignificant to accurately express rage, hopelessness, sorrow, depression, maniacal violence.
the purple piggy oinked 5:27 AM
| Friday, February 25, 2011
the two beings are torn once again,
a shredded whole, or now, broken separates.
not a person but a half,
the act that hides the void.
hollow, you know? in both meanings of that word.
the deeper meaning behind why ulquiorra is my favourite character in bleach.
but what of that?
the attempts have failed,
and the future filled with unknowns,
successes and failures are rife and have ceased to matter.
lysander says to end life when i end loyalty,
the unbalance when thoughts spill over and coherent ones are lost,
i skip from one to another with the ease of a dying creature.
you say that to kill a bug missing one wing and a leg is cruel,
for there may be a chance that it might live.
yes there is that chance that it might live,
but the chance of it dying is greater.
but then again why such a confusing subject where right and wrong can so easily overturn each other?
so we move on.
to eat and to sleep and to breathe.
soom, as some might say.
but that's not really the point if you're not a fangirl.
but i am, and therefore.
the desperate wish is buried beneath the folds of sly cunning as the evasion of invaders is played out in a quick, pretty side-step.
descriptions are gory as the death is imagined.
the slow killing relished by the watchers,
as the shrill cries die away and the bottled whimpers claw from within.
claw, i said.
claw, scratch, gouge, hurt.
i see that not many people are familiar with that little habit.
claw till blood peeks out from the open flesh and runs down in rivulets of tears,
crying for your death as the spirit is shackled.
walking zombies trawl the streets,
they have no need to search for new victims,
for all are theirs, and they have all.
but the clouds gaze down at one of the few who understands her difference from the rest, her connection to the clouds,
and cry for her inability to learn how to blend yet not forget herself.
pity, sympathy, sorrow, maybe even some hope,
in every raindrop, every tear that bathes the unseeing eyes.
the cracked glass overflows with bitter unhappiness,
shriveling up the child-like creature.
so easy to die.
the actress has replaced the child,
she is now the replacement.
the chest will one day be unlocked, but whether or not that day will actually come is another matter entirely.
so sit back, relax, and do enjoy the show.
i call it,
the crushing of the spirit.
but wait. too many complaints, perhaps.
such a nice world, so many nice people, but unfortunately, so many events.
payment for entry? i'll take your spirit, your smiles, your confidence.
and replace it with the void.
the purple piggy oinked 7:35 PM
| Wednesday, February 23, 2011
a dance to the death in the murky vat of no return
the purple piggy oinked 6:22 AM
| Sunday, February 13, 2011
sometimes the pain goes away, but it always come back.
it's a plea, perhaps not that silent anymore,
a plea to be taken away from where you cannot leave.
see the point?
only the surface point.
a wish to live a life not this,
yet this life has been a gift, an opportunity you sometimes wonder how it came.
so you trudge on through the blood and mud,
towards that uncertain hope that one day, there can be a heartfelt smile.
i do think that the demands have lessened over the years.
we cut when we do not have, but still they are not fulfilled.
why so?
silent death. the spirit is being crushed.
i told you, i told you so.
crush the child helpless
the voice so faint crying for help
the only one that can hear it is the suppressor of it,
but if both are the same, what would it mean?
daydreams, you see.
creation of fantasy where it is so similar to reality, but the child is free.
peculiar.
the fantasies used to be so far-fetched, but with each stamp the creativity seems to die.
give me the imagination of the six year old,
who happily wrote a seven page story about bricklands and multicoloured sand when she had not even grasped the concept of paragraphing and skipping lines,
or the other one who dreams,
who still is present but her voice ever so faint.
visitors? i hope not.
those who beg for mercy are ever so foolish, and who are you to give in to that.
who am i? nothing. void.
the purple piggy oinked 6:38 AM
| Saturday, February 12, 2011
what goes up must come down,
what is hidden will come out,
the buried will break the earth,
the sad to rule the world,
but the broken child will never heal.
spirit broken pretty facade
lies lies to soothe the raging
rants to ease the mind
you do not see the arrangement but the puppet always does for who best to understand than the very one that goes through it
sense sense never making sense but through the disconnected untidiness there is an order
order order i see do you see the dark clouds that cover the sun but what of that i do not care for rain is welcome and sunshine hated in more ways then one
the roiling waves soon overturn the ship and everyone goes down but since what goes up must come down what goes down will also come up so they all surface again,
rejoicing at their close shave with death but never realizing that that little child has sunk to the bottom of the ocean,
pinned there by force and encased in the unbreakable prison till help comes. or she might die before it comes. you can never tell.
too much?
the purple piggy oinked 5:02 AM
|
you told me i could fly, but you clipped my wings.
you told me i could run, but you slipped stones into my shoes.
you told me to dream big, but you laughed and told me it'd never happen.
you said i was doing well, but you turned and called me a failure.
you said i was pretty, but you called me ugly.
see the opposites?
why the ability to spew opposites from a single mouth, or do you have a stash of mouths labelled "positive" and "negative" somewhere in that dark light heart?
yes, note the deliberate contrast.
joyful depression.
a lesson well learnt, a truthful lie.
the purple piggy oinked 4:55 AM
| Sunday, February 6, 2011
it is not about which is the path less taken, nor is it about which path would lead you to success or money,
but rather about which path you are forced to take.
for there is always that path that fate dictates that you simply have to take, where your choice is not a factor in the matter.
the hopes, dreams, do not matter here, for as said, you do not matter.
simply a cog in that wonderful well-oiled machine of life,
what importance does the thoughts of a cog have?
but after that path, perhaps the freedom to choose another will be held.
perhaps, of course, is the keyword.
the purple piggy oinked 4:57 AM
| Saturday, February 5, 2011
the plea is still there, but the rag doll has learnt to ignore and manipulate the puppet strings as best as possible.
the puppet controlling itself.
a dream that many puppets have, so few achieve,
and the rag doll knows that this temporary control will fail her one day and the invisible hands will take up the strings again.
the purple piggy oinked 3:50 AM
|
the meaning of what is written does not have to be dissected and carefully examined under the harsh glare of the fluorescent lights
what is there is there,
the author, poet, playwright may not appreciate you poking your nose into their affairs,
interpreting their little babies completely out of context,
thinking yourself so high and mighty that you know what they meant to say,
and being so stuck up as to actually teach the next generation on your interpretation of that novel,poem,play
one wonders what exactly Shakespeare had hoped to mean by his many plays, and whether or not the interpretations floating around are even close to the truth.
just because many people come to the same conclusion does not necessarily mean it's true.
lies can be agreed on for the sake of convenience,
and is that not what we all do in this smoky society of today?
the purple piggy oinked 3:43 AM
| Tuesday, February 1, 2011
the furrows deep,
potatoes dead,
gold tarnished,
plows broken,
dance killed.
the purple piggy oinked 9:28 PM
|
the main point behind the acting is such an obvious farce to hide the real reason which in it's turn is hidden beneath folds of tough marshmallows, melting fire to dance in the jagged shards of dagger glass.
the purple piggy oinked 7:54 AM
|
the fragile bubble is so easily popped.
the purple piggy oinked 7:22 AM
