(Written at age 16.)
The vision is but a perception, slave to the petty mind,
Introduce yourself to something new, and it changes its kind,
The soul lies too deep within the cacophony of reality,
To be changed, altered, cast in blasphemy,
It is like music, satisfied, saturated, blisfully blind,
Not seeking anything, not wanting to find,
Its all is itself, its all is YOU,
In its paradigm your being is tenaciously true,
So hard to reach, so hard to preach,
And thus it what we all beseech,
To seek our true selves, untouched, pure,
To see ourselves, confident, sure,
No solution lies in vision alone,
For unfortunately our senses are too prone,
To lie, deceive and tell us false,
To answer to the material world's becks and calls
And yet, as dependable as the soul may be,
As far away from the arms of engulfing reality,
My soul's been profaned, a love too harsh,
That led me on in a beautiful farce,
I live now, unwillingly, in faltering hope,
Wishing somehow to catch a rope,
That will take me to life, or to death,
That will save my soul from each painful breath.
When we trust we give too much,
No one is worth our celestial touch,
Each to himself, that's how it is
Fake is a hug, faker a kiss,
Why do we build bonds and ties?
Relationships are a bunch of lies,
Life is ephemeral, waiting to end,
Nothing lasts, no love, no friend.
Beauty, meant to be a thing to please,
To bring a smile, to put a mind to ease,
Is just one more way we lay down,
To let ourselves be pushed around.
I prefer being ugly, just the way I am,
No expectations I might break, no hopes I may slam.
The beauty in ugliness is what is true,
The beauty in pain is realised by few,
These beauties I embrace,
In them I hide my face,
I give myself to them, in sheer whole,
Knowing I'll never again see my soul,
I relish in the thought of a bondless existance,
Basking in the prospect of no petty persistance,
Of annoying laughter and nagging happiness,
Of dreams of living without any stress.
I exist as hollow as my heart was made,
I exist as an item of a fair trade
Between life and death.
An ounce of exchange in each breath.
A beacon of light,
An embodiment of night.
The white in black,
The progress in looking back,
The pleasure in pain's neverending folds,
Such are the treasures my lonely life holds.