Foreal lol

Grimey this time
Spinning while everything inclines
The lines are blurred
I cannot define

Mixtures, textures; feels are so real
We’re always so exposed
The world starts to kill
Expiring, and in rhythms still

They cut down the trees
We plant the seeds
Into the minds
It’s the illusions they feed 

The walls are high
We sit here patiently
Luxury in the acceptance
Emancipation happens incredulously

Dreaming

The movie is playing and I’m the Protagonist. But my storyline 

is so still that I can’t measure my outcomes. I’m waiting - to resume 

my story. And I laugh because life is so beautiful. It gives me the 

hints as subtle as they can be. My actions, so free, ultimately - careless. 

Comparable, people always thought. I could never understand what 

the point of resistance could be. I want to re-write my story every day. 

In a new way and with a new plot twist. Because I know that today 

I have something that the other day didn’t. I couldn’t comprehend it at 

the time but I’m growing into the storyline.

Visually, my dreams seem real, finally. Emotions so heavy, in my dreams 

they were over bearing, so overwhelming and today I’m writing. The 

hidden instances I always notice. I’m watching how you watch me and 

all we do is deny. I’ll make you chase me.

The writer of my knowing, I’m in knowing, and I’m showing. Although 

its effortless, the kind of thing that suits us best. The way we move in 

our natural flow, nothing exposed and yet so pronounced. I see all the

little things, when I dive into you. :)

Found

Sides, Faces, Phases, Places.

We’re filtered in each person’s perspectives. The labels never go
away, and each action is replaced with another label. Forever breaking
them through opposite extremes. You are seen as something else.
Insanity driven, influenced by context, proving through standards.
Not everyone’s story adds up. But the influence is there and the
influenced are lost. A sense of loss.. the self is sought.

I’m this if I wear that. I’m that because I act like this. The walls are
up, the vulnerability is never around. The tangibles are a distraction,
an investment into the downfall. The illusions are cast by the magician,
bored in its cage.The hidden stories behind it add up to nothing of
this world.

 Earth bound - I’m so found.

To be unseen. The silence creates the noise. The itch is provoking
us to splatter onto the canvas. Splatters of chaos and of raw intentions.
The feeling of the world is lost in the wilderness.

And then we are faced with the attack.
When the tension is found and when we become untamed.
The stillness evokes.
Going into being gone.

Into the same

Why do we believe that all our paths are different when we 

share the same world? How would all paths cross if we didn’t 

share anything in common? It’s impossible to be differentiated 

from each other because we live off each other. We have the 

different phases in life that help us step into existence together. 

The frequency, in which we do, increases as we continue 

simultaneously. As we act, we break the barriers by changing 

the associations once made. We create others.

‘Generations apart’ is how we’re all defined. We precede many 

like us and we mimic what has been done. So what is different?

The way we act, and the way we show ourselves, the way we 

remain our intrinsic self is what’s different. To be utterly so, we 

battle our own expectations of where we find ourselves. Our 

contexts define everything; the people around us influence our 

character, or push us in the opposite extremes. And once we’re 

pushed here, we realize that it means the same to be on the other 

side.

We experience many different things. We live to achieve our 

happiness or rather to be happy despite of our achievements. 

The experience brings us this happiness, without the intention to 

gain. The unexpected things free us into our consciousness, and 

we once again feel the familiarity that we all share. Without any 

order, without any sense, logic doesn’t apply when we go beyond 

what we can analyze.

I wake up every morning to go to work, I do my make up, I do my 

hair. I fit into my contexts but the context doesn’t fit me. I look the 

part and that’s all that’s in sight. All I see are people scurried into 

their paths.

Some glance into me, into the world, into their own and into
everything. 

Inspired by a curly haired Italian guy

Lately

Lately, 

everyone reminds me of someone 

else. 

Other people I once 

met, visit me right now 

again, 

through other people.