Beauty and Chaos

The World is a painting I exist in,

Yet I don’t even know its Creator.

It’s a work of Art that is never permanent,

Amending itself with escalating beauty and chaos.

I stand in an open field to view

The evolving beauty. It’s like

The colors bleed into each other

To create an entirely new painting to awe.

The colors of the World begin to melt.

The paint falls to the surface I stand upon

Like rain that cleanses the World

From all its chaos.

The surface is flooding with this concoction.

The pool’s volume continues to grow until my feet are lifted

And I’m swimming in the paint.

The World is looking white

As if the Creator is beginning a new project.

The paint continues to melt until I’m treading

In the pool of beauty and chaos.

This is not the end of the World;

The Artist wants us to truly engage with the Art.

I look upon the ghostly white environment,

And then slowly fall until my head is submerged in the paint.

I’m not fading into the darkness,

I am drowning in Art.

The pool of beauty and chaos drowns me,

Dying in Art and not a World of nothing.

The Perfect Woman

Locked away in my dark chamber to escape the imperfect world, I sought to construct the perfect woman. I wanted total control over how she’d look, act, and think. I gathered a collection of materials to bring this creation to life. I had everything that I needed to create the perfect true love who’d accompany me to the grave.

Starting from the inside, I installed a brain capable of individual thought, but also a chamber for like-mindedness so that we’d share something in common. We needed to like the same things and we needed to have the same feelings for each other. Included was a personality that I’ve long searched for in a woman. It was something that would truly reflect what she looked like on the outside. I was sick of being deceived by beauty, only to learn that she was a monster on the inside. On the inside, we were totally compatible.  The heart I gave her thumped excitedly, practically mimicking my heart’s exact tone.

I sewed her up and began work on her physical features. She needed the necessary features to compliment her impeccable personality. I gave her brown hair that stretched a few inches past her shoulders. I also gave her hazel colored eyes to match mine so that we could see the world together as one. Her body was difficult to build according to what I saw and thought of as perfect. If she was too big, she’d probably succumb to the media’s idea of a perfect body and torture herself to frailty. If she was too thin, she’d also fall prey to the media as before, therefore dangerously trying to have a perfect body. I’m giving her something in between, hopefully something that she can be happy with. I want her to be totally satisfied with who she is on the inside and out.

I made her out of the assumption that we’d be together and share a love that is undefined for the rest of the world, but defined by our own standards. With my own hands and standards, I’ve created a woman I deemed to be perfect.

Needless to say, there were complications.

I’ve made the mistake of playing God, constructing a woman who I thought was perfect. She wasn’t something that she wanted to be; she had no choice whatsoever because of me. I made a woman that was forced to love me. I made a woman that doesn’t even exist in this world.

Perfect doesn’t exist.

I’m living in an imperfect world and I was under the impression that if I couldn’t find perfection, I could create it. I was wrong. I’ve even come to the conclusion that my creation is imperfect.

I am no longer going to play God, and I am no longer going to search for perfection. I’ve begun my search for love and beauty in the realm of imperfection.  Whoever she is, she’ll be perfect for me.

Shadow

The light has exorcised a demon that colors the pavement, my wall, the flesh of a stranger, and even my own flesh.  He lives inside a prison that is structured according to my bones, muscles, and organs. Light is the only being who wants him to escape.

As the sun rises, the energy of the light tears through the prison and liberates the prisoner.  He is two-dimensional and exists on the surface where the population thrives.  He follows me everywhere I go, walking with the population of demons following their creators on the pavement.  The figure progresses into a darker character as the sun dies down, eventually returning to the prison he belongs in.  On some nights, he refuses to go back to the prison in favor of merging with the natural darkness.  The sun travels the planet to liberate other prisoners like himself.

He plans to haunt me.  He is an unwanted personality that no other human shall meet.  He is the dark side of my being that lives  on my wall and won’t stop staring at me.  He is the unwanted personality not even I wanted to meet.  I digress from my plan to alleviate the room from the lights that keep him alive because I know he will return in some form or another.  He is a villain that will haunt me for the rest of my life, serving his sentence until my dying day.

One day I will rest in peace because there is no light six feet deep.

The World Is My Painting

I’m haunted by the elegiac darkness of this world.

There are no visible boundaries of this black room I exist in.

No light, no color, almost as if the world itself is blind.

How am I to restore light in such a dark place

That even I am unable to see through?

I cannot see, I can smell, taste, hear, and touch

The darkness circulating throughout the realm.

A light has made its presence known as a glow

Emits from the depths within my body.

This white shine only glows within my body

And still leaves the rest of the world saturated in black paint.

My heart and every other vital organ are exposed.

A myriad of colors are flowing through my veins.

These are the only colors left that exist.

The world needs to be painted again so

I’m going to bring it back to life.

With a razor, I cut through my skin and watched

The colors seep through my body into the darkness.

A pool of multicolored paint lays in front of me at my disposal.

With a paintbrush, I use the colors within my body

And give a hue to everything that was once alive.

I’m losing consciousness and I will soon be dead

But the world will never again dabble into darkness.

The grass is greener than it ever was, the sky is bluer

And everything that was once beautiful is lively again.

I’ve fallen into a slumber in which I’ll never awake,

But I’ll get to sleep in a pool of beautiful colors

I knew once existed. To my death,

I’ve made the world a painting of my own

That came straight from the heart.

I Can’t See My Face

Looking into the mirror, I’m able to note every physical characteristic of my being. I know the color of my eyes, I know the shape of every scar and blemish, and I know exactly what body my innards are controlling to walk this Earth. I live in a world where it’s possible to know who I am just by looking through a series of photographs, films, and mirrors. I’m not afraid of who I am because I know exactly what people are looking at when they look at me.

I’m beginning to think of a world where physical reflection, photographs, and film footage didn’t exist.

If this were the case, I can look down and see nearly everything from my shoulders down to my feet. Yet, I’d live my entire life without ever knowing my facial characteristics. I can pick hairs off from the top of my head to get an idea about other characteristics.  I could also trace the outline of the bones that provide structure, but I’ll never see the face that hosts the eyes responsible for visualizing the world for me. Imagine living your entire life being able to see everything but your own face. Everyone else can see your face, but you’re left in the dark for the rest of your existence. Sometimes what you don’t see is scarier.

You could always ask somebody to draw your face so that you could get an idea. However, you’re going to get a wide range of quality from the many people you ask. Some will only be able to draw a stick figure with a circular head, and simple dashes to represent the eyes, nose, ears, and mouth. Some will be able to draw a near photo-realistic portrait, but it’s open to interpretation. They could have drawn everything exactly as they have seen, or they’ve made a few adjustments, purposely deceiving you. Would you trust somebody else to tell you who you really are? No, only you know who you really are.

Heartbeat

Nothing haunts me more than the sound of a heartbeat. That thumping racket repeatedly changing pace, either increasing or decreasing. That heartbeat can mean anything; it may be beating faster, slower, or normally for a multitude of reasons. My heart is the center of my universe.

1. It’s an everyday thing to keep me going. It carries me through the challenges of every waking moment that it beats.
2. It lets me know that my system is being drowned in my own blood.
3. It beats normally to let me know that I’m normal.
4. It beats faster and slower, letting me know that I’m anything but normal.
5. It beats until the day I die.
6. The faster I run, the faster it beats.
7. When I’m truly frightened by the elements of terror in our world, my heart will signal this by beating faster, or it’ll stop.
8. Whenever I sneeze, cough, or hiccup, my heart doesn’t stop in contrast to popular belief.
9. When I take a moment to sit still with my thoughts rather than the activity of my heart, it decelerates.
10. It compliments my breathing, one breath at a time, it keeps me alive.
11. When I’m feeling stone cold, it goes slower and slower, as if ice is coursing through my veins.
12. When I’m enraged, it goes faster and faster, as if flames are engulfing my ribcage, instigating action.
13. The sound of the thumping is truly haunting as you listen to your heart change it’s pace. As it gains or loses momentum, you’re left wondering whether you’re really living or dying.
14. It beats in rhythm with other inhabitants of the world, letting me know that I’m not alone.
15. It beats in correspondence with the one I love, showing that we’re connected to each other for a reason.
16. It beats in agreement only with her, for our relationship is defined while others are not.
17. It’s an organ I share in common with not only the human species, but any other creature that has ever roamed this universe.
18. It serves as a main source of connection and not of difference.
19. It beats to serve my brain and other main parts of my body.
20. It enables me to serve in all functions of life.
21. It has served me well through prenatal development, infancy, childhood, and adolescence.
22. It will continue to do it’s job through adulthood, old age, all the way till death.
23. It rules my physical existence, I’m not entirely sure if I can keep it after I die.
24. It guides me through bouts of happiness, sorrow, anger, despair, fear, surprise, nervousness, alertness, exhaustion, hope, desire, love, hate, relaxation, loneliness, curiosity, hurt, humor, rage, stress, passion, boredom, emptiness, embarrassment, anxiety, and inner peace.
25. It is me.

Smile

Whenever somebody flashes a smile your direction, what do you make of it? Unlike a mirror, one that is incapable of deception, a smile boasts the unique ability of possessing several different meanings. The mirror will tell you as it is while a smile works to truly mess with your mind. We’ve been taught to associate a smile with positivity, but does this positivity benefit the giver and the receiver, or does it mean happiness for one and hurt for the other?

Her face twists up into a smile, emitting a glow of beauty across the room. He’s proud of himself because he’s made the love of his life happy. He responds with a look on his face to match hers, reminding her that they’ll always have each other. The complexity of their love exists within the simplicity of a smile.

The little boy’s face drips with blood, trickling down towards his mouth where a smile used to be. It is no longer existent. The violence and hatred of his peers have taken the smile he once had for good, and they’ve used it for the purpose of evil. Their smile emits a darkness the little boy is uncomfortable with, reminding him of the darkness he bathes in within the boundaries of his own mind. Even inside him, his smile can’t penetrate the ridicule and hurt they’ve inflicted on his innocent soul. Never has a smile destroyed him like this.

She walks through life with a smile engraved on her tortured soul. Everybody’s jealous of the smile that she’s seemingly proud to wear upon her face, but what’s the real story behind this smile? We don’t know if it’s a smile that hides a violent history, or if it’s a genuine smile that encourages progression, that everything is going to be okay. Her smile is a visible scar from the damage done on the inside.

There’s a vast amount of interpretations that you can make about a smile. You just never know what the other person is thinking and you won’t know what their smile indicates. As far is I know, it’s just a crack in your soul.

Send Up A Prayer

I’m not one to write blog posts like these, ya know, telling people what to do.  However, today’s post is going to be a little different.  What I’d like to communicate to all of you today is that it’s time to think of somebody that isn’t you.

I used to be an atheist because I thought it was rebellious in high school and then I actually had passion for my atheism.  Ever since sophomore year of college where I was struggling at my new college, I’ve resurrected my faith in God.  Actually, “resurrected” is not the correct word because I never had faith in the first place.  I believed in what my parents taught me was right.  Sophomore year of college, I had become ACQUAINTED with the power of faith and prayer.  It was great, you know, just talking to God about whatever and having faith that I would do well on an exam or something important to my life at the moment.

I learned that I was not utilizing these principles correctly.  What’s wrong with having faith that you’ll succeed or praying that you’ll succeed, you ask?  Nothing.  Absolutely nothing.  I am trying to make the best of what I was blessed with in order to become a better man every single day.  I discovered that I was praying for myself and only myself, as well as just having faith in myself.  Yes, there is nothing wrong with having faith in yourself or praying for yourself, but I learned that faith and prayer work in other ways as well.

I began having faith in others and praying for others.  Currently, I’m in the position now where I don’t pray much for myself anymore; I pray for a family member, a friend, a pet, someone that I may not even know, or all of the above.  I know some out there may not agree to the power of prayer or faith, but this doesn’t mean that you can’t have thoughts about others.  Have thoughts and hope that someone else out there in the world is having a great day or persevering through their daily struggles.

Prayer, faith, thoughts, and hope for others.  It’s not too much to ask, and I guarantee if you’re looking for ways to better yourself, reaching out to others with kindness is a great start.  Let ’em know you’ve been praying for them or thinking about them.  Knowing that you’re on someone else’s mind is a feeling unlike any other.

The Angel’s Noose

Our world is polluted with a chaos that fills my lungs.  Eventually, they are over-saturated and need to be deflated.  I’m almost in need of a large snake to constrict and embezzle every last breath of love and hatred.  The final seconds have arrived, but are slowly ticking away.

The blackened sky emits a blinding glow as a halo descends from the heavens.  An equally brightened rope helps the halo dangle closer to the Earth.  I want to grab it, however it’s taking a sweet, leisurely stroll to the surface.  It has finally reached my hands, but my fingers permeate through its ghostliness.

The angelic ring of light wraps itself around my neck, and the piloting angel from the heavens tugs on the rope, tightening the noose.  My soon to be lifeless body is lifted from the surface and pulled towards the black sky.  Spectators watch as I ascend to the heavens on this holy noose.  I’ve gone as high as I can where the holy dead rest.  I will live amongst them until I’ve earned my halo.  With my own ring, I can dangle it from the new kingdom and strangle another being, bringing them to this paradise.

This is not the end of life.  This is a new beginning, and it’s quite beautiful.

Rest Her Bones On Me

I thank God every day for this gift, this blessing.

Her flesh is obscured by the skin that imprisons

Such a beautiful character, preserved in everlasting darkness

That will never see daylight.  Her elegant soul travels

Through each kiss to unite with mine within my own realm.

This is a love story that will not wake the dead,

For our souls will not intervene with such a loud world.

This is a love story that takes place within our own bodies,

A silent love that only we can understand.

When it is our time to pass, I pray that He rests her bones on mine.

This may be our final resting place, but our souls will permeate

Through the cracks of the physical Earth and journey elsewhere.

This is a love story that will never end just because our hearts stopped,

Our souls have been acquainted through each kiss we shared.

Hand in hand, we will continue without that crippling pulse.

Our hearts were the center of our universe, but our ghosts have taken over.

We will not haunt, only continue what we’ve always had.