Why was I so confused? It's all so easy.

 Gravity, the thing that grounds us, the force of nature that we desperately try to defeat because   we are born to fly , apparently. It seems to me that everyone is too consumed by the ambitions of achieving materialistic ideals, when in reality we are all simply trying to stay alive. Men aim to have a lucrative job, a hi-tech laptop, a lavish lifestyle. No car is fast enough, no apartment is big enough, no bank account is loaded enough. As we deviate from the true meaning of life, pseudo-relativism takes over the world by storm. The textbook definition of relativism is that there is no absolute truth, but it has, in recent years boiled down to people have different perspectives and I'm not saying you are wrong, but I'm right too. While in theory it sounds respectful and considerate, doesn't it? But it has become an alibi for every toxic person you can think of. We choose to live in the objective reality but conform to our subjective principles, hell I've even talked t

Words are empty now, Breath comes slower and slower, The real saints are saved _______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________ Ace burns all the cards, As the queen watches in shock, All rise for the king _______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________ Fight for the glory, Soldiers march forward with awe, One more move, checkmate _______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________ Ocean's burning hot, Fire engulfs all the trees, Ashes all fall down _______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________ Raindrops fall, soundless, Power of beyond, boundless, Gasp, Perry the Platypus,

 An Ode to Odile did I send off from my heart, The message had to travel distances worlds apart, With no complains, no doubts, and no self regard, The pigeon flew majestically in a magnificent arc, Memories of past have haunted me for ages, Inciting dysfunction and the worst of the rages, Looking back I realise not much has mattered, For my dreams still live inside their cages, Time showed me the true colors, the innumerable shades, Of my mind, as into the deep waters it wades, As they dig my grave by the cliff, as I masquerade, As a seraphic being, ignoring the abyss I made, A lonely old man, I cradle the words once said to me, By a maniacal, spiteful and arrogantly defiant being, What I do is none of your business  it said with a snare, No love, care, kindness, not even a glance to spare. Angels fall for a cause as every hellion applauds, At the sight of another being with insurmountable flaws, The light fades out and the wings fall in the blazing pit, As the halo disappears and out

It was that time again when red turns to blue, The actors sat there laughing, missing every cue, But as the cameras started rolling, a facade slid on their face, And a place for every book, every book in its place, As everything slowly became engulfed with hue. ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Water boiling on the stove, better keep an eye, While you watch your infant scream and cry, As thoughts of your career blur your vision, You forget and let go of all rhyme and reason, And the husband comes back to the pig-sty. ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Cascading waves crash on the shore, Ocean wades away from land more and more, Men stand on the beach, mesmerized by the sight, Not aware of what's to come, free of fright, As a tsunami charges forward from the ocean's core. ---------------------------

Psychology, Philosophy, and Morality Well, people have told me that they can't seem to figure me out. Or that they don't understand how my brain works, and what in the fuck do I think I'm doing... So here's a chain of thoughts I had over the course of approximately an hour. Buckle up fellas, it's about to be a long read. 06:17 am I sat there sipping my tea, cigarette in my hand, and thinking about how studying psychology has altered my perspective in life and that I look at the same things differently than I did before. Watching Brooklyn 99, I used to think Jake is funny, but now I felt like if that is an actual behaviour of a person, perhaps they need a therapist. Then I snapped back to reality and started looking around, noticing the morning sparse crowd go on about their morning rituals. Daily struggles of strangers. some seem like they've got their life on track, others seem to need a bit more time before they get there. I realised the next moment how I am n

 The stories of lore that we have all heard growing up. Romeo and Juliet, Paris and Helen, all these have had deep impacts on the psyche of the people of that era and it continues to be so centuries later. Gratitude, however, for these stories to have shaped our beliefs has been remiss as we show blatant disregard for the lore and the history behind them. I remember reading about The Beauty and The Beast. A marvelously magical land, with enchanted teapots and dancing silverware seemed so mesmerizing and so profound back then. Now, when I think of it, the first thing in my mind is Stockholm Syndrome. And make no mistake, the mind is right to jump to such a drastic conclusion. But that makes you wonder, when does a child's sense of wonder become child-like wonder in a person's life. What is it that changes the person so jarringly that something that was so homely and comforting becomes nothing more than a guilty pleasure. What makes a man stop and think twice before even consider

In the sea of passion, reason is but a raft, For desire is a blight festooning the mind,  A blinding light, driven by moxie, With a spirit like Poseidon, turning the tide, Logic and common sense, take a vacation on the night of ire, Baser instincts take over, in a flood of delusion, Surrendering the soul into a wild, uncontrollable pyre, As shadows take over, darkness flooding the vision, "We are the change" they chant, into the blissful abyss, Blinders surrounding the iris, rendering morality remiss, The heathens walk through the flames, demanding a price, "Follow your instincts" they recite, a hopeless advice. Grasping the reality as you plunge into the rabbit hole, Seems futile and irrelevant to the ignorant soul, Gratuitous violence inside the minds of the lost, Engulfing the hearts, a truly terrible cost. For no man can survive, without a soul and a heart, No man can live, being less than himself, only a part, Submitting his conscience, inviting the dark, Leavi

Into the hallway of nightmares, Eyes searching for the respite from fear, The pull from beyond getting tighter and tighter, Feel the mothership calling you home, The spirits are loud this evening, aren't they, As they parade around in faux smiles and joy of laughter, What seems too good always is, The sense of impending doom forever looms, Ever closer, ever nearer, To the embodiment of life, To satiate its never ending appetite, As longing for a purpose creeps into your mind, As the shadows pull you closer,  And the darkness seethes and writhes in the corner, Humanity fading away, reality crashing down, Ashes, ashes, you fall way way down, Into the unknown, towards darkness your old friend, It has come to talk to you, To preach to a sinner, To turn you into a believer, By taking away your faith, Calling you the Wraith, Filling you up with hate, Bringing out your rage, To all the bastards and the unkind, This pleasure seems so so fine, Marching forward, crossing all the lines, And s

 Life, it is a petty thing. Can't ever figure it out, but the older I get the more I realise that we aren't really supposed to be figuring it out. I mean, the point of life is the search, right? Because once you find it, what next? What else are we supposed to do once we figure that out? More money? More happiness? More love? More peace? What's the point of it all when life loses all its luster? All we have is now, and most of us spend most of our lives running from this exact feeling. Planning for the future, crying over the past, ignoring the present, disassociating with the now to make way for something that isn't even here yet, and might never be here ever. But the thing is, life is only as meaningful as you fool yourself into thinking it is. Government, society, justice, morality, friendship, faith, religion, monogamy are just socially accepted delusions that we impose on reality to try and establish some control over our lives, but the truth is eventually, we all

Heart is a sycophant, does what it wants, Can't keep up with present, can't be what it was, Thinking it's all fun and games, don't care for the cost That life demands, it fills me with remorse. The poor bastard can't see where it goes, Can't let go of the life that it knows, Can't be bothered to evolve and grow, It's a cruel world, but hell if he knows. Happiness and pain, they go hand in hand Love and support is all that it demands But can't sense when the dark forces creep in Can't realise when hate and anger seep in. For all it cares for is love and life, Not to bed a Betty, but to have a wife, To nab a heart, is it's only true crime, Rest have just been misplaced on it over time. It aches me to say that it may ever be whole, Never recover the lost part of my soul, For my heart and I, we have a special bond, Because only one of us can venture beyond. The laws of the universe keep me in this realm, So I try my best to keep my heart at the h

The internal consequence of our actions is the easier part because the external consequences are much to bear. For you to be able to assess how much to do for the fuck up that you bring down on the poor sap in front of you is somehow a forgotten skill. The more I meet the world, the more I sense the illusion falling apart. And when I say the illusion I do not refer to my own idea of the society. No, I see humanity tugging on the curtains of the stage as it slowly but surely gives way for the sunshine of reality to blind our pupils while we awe at our own destruction glorified by the existence that holds no meanings in any plane of existence, except in our conscience. It is a nightmare dressed like a daydream, no doubt about it. The more I see the humans on this earth struggling and suffer the length of their self-made miserable life, the more I feel the pain that they unleash on the world. Because I am their medium, they seem to unleash the wrath on their race via the person who is no

 If life could be a movie, it would be a comedy, The stooges of species are offered no remedy, Living in it, it might seem dark, sad and dull, But from a viewer's eye, it uses humour heavily, Little things matter we say, it matters to us, And will fight for these little things, making a fuss, For a promotion, for some appreciation, such a ruckus, But do they really actually matter, or is it insignificant like us. It could all be a dream, one that we refuse to wake up from, If this is a dream never wake me up, is all I ask. But if I did, if I see the 'real' world, I might not stay calm, I might lose my mind, might go crazy, forget all the psalms, The sinister spells cast on the setting sun, As we gather our wits, as we jog into a run, Atop the clouds, beneath the golden sky, In a circle for eternity, staying perpetually in motion. The cycle of life we call it, the vicious trap, Shirk all our faults, giving the devil a bad rap, Not realising the worth of all the faith we had,

He can feel the pull of the feelings gone by, The longing of recognition for the boy that lived, The boy still doesn't truly understand just why, Why he had to live as the ones he loved came to die, An innocent desire can turn into a nightmare for demons, That reside in his heart, turn him into a heathen, He struggles and struggles to defy all the odds, To exact his pound of flesh from the world, call it even, The legends are lore, the burdens they bore, Are things of fiction, turned into something to abhor, As we trudge on in the rain, not seeing straight, But he's just looking for the one to call mi amor, It seems futile to do the right thing every time, To be battered and broken just to see a stranger smile, To worry about the future, trying to amend his past, The boy lives on, and he knows he must live on for a while, It's sad to imagine a world without the faithful disciples, Of the lost art of love, he needs to understand and decipher, What makes us human, keeps the m

Goofy and aloof, could be a sign of the times, Could be from the past when our thoughts used to rhyme, No heroics, no sacrifice, a harmony of peace echoed around, The symphony halted at the end, I can't seem to remember why. The past is the past and best left in the past, But the past was so sweet, the taste meant to last, To scrounge and claw our way through the world, We set out on our way, to watch the world burn. From angsty teenagers to responsible adults, From strangers in the rain to lovers in the park, In suffering together as one, guarding each other, We learned to truly embrace and accept who we are. Nothing feels as good as the first one, they say, But lightning struck twice for me as she showed me the way, Battered and bruised, I was down in the dungeons back then, Waiting for someone, to come and take me far far away. Again and again, the words left her mouth, Why does no one serenade me with their words so profound, Hold my sprite, and watch me create the symphony of

Unbeknownst to him, the walls are closing in, He feels trapped, feels like a fool, He can't be the one to do this, it's not his burden, He feels like a maniac, changing the rule, He suffers and cries, makes his sorrow known, The rule that makes the world go around, He finds no solace, He tries with all his might, with his hands bound, Can't be what they need him to be, In the kingdom of pain, he offers kindness, For as a man, he is just a man, In the realm of darkness, Samael they call him, He isn't god, he can't be god, Bringing the light, to cure all the blindness, But they make him out to be, The messiah of the voiceless, they call him, An imposter, his complex out for all to see, As his heart grows heavier, he continues to love, It seems to him that all hope is lost, Continues to bring the faith, as if straight from above, For him to be new again, In a ball of energy, he seems forgiving, He can't heal, Appears to be eternal to those who worship him, Can'