blazeingdark

its 2 am and my hands go through their practiced motions. opening, closing as if they are reaching for something. my arms outstretched fingers beckoning to the ceiling. theres something there i know it i can feel it just out of reach, floating further away. but its right there, so warm and comforting, trust, love, passion, kindness. in the action of a gentle caress three fingers motion to the ceiling, remembering the feel of your skin only to clasp air and a weakened fist. we reach out to those we love, we reach out to those who can save us. an outstretched hand, a sign of vulnerability help me, please. i need you. yet help i

humans are pitiful creatures. every single one. they form bonds, and dash them apart. and yet while they're hurt, they move on. such strength from mere folly they get hurt again they can lie to themselves and move on but the scars remain. always and yet... why? why do i want what they have. they're emotions cripple them so how can they feel so alive? humans are strange creatures. even though they lie to themselves they can move on which.... is more than i can say but the scares remain always and yet they have no chains. they're free free to dream free to live. free to love. and if they get hurt they recover. fas

They always say your not alone That no one is alone but the reality of your situation you fully know They want you to believe but they can never show everything they know and what they can see haven't you ever questioned what you were told? haven't you looked at the stars on a clear night? don't you feel something inside you rising to tell you this just isn't right? you are not alone; you are not alone that's what he wants you to believe he wants you to go on like this to wear you down and make you weak If you think about it its a clever plan; you may as well just die if you believe that this is all you'll ever have you may

"Here we stand once again… rather we are sitting. The same position you were in last year. Uncertainty is a mystifying power, no? And yet, there come moments when it appears that the very fabric of our existence is being rocked by the tremors of this force. The soul seems to briefly loose its chains to this corporal terrain, and for a briefest moment, the temporal is behind, another realm’s gates opening before us. Having shed the physical behind in the previous realm, should we not fly towards the stars, dancing among the celestial spheres of flame, singing among the morning stars the song of Creation? Instead we find ourselves in