I've controlled the heat and the cold wherever the sign fears the shifting I've disappeared from the eyes of reflection the life of the concrete belonging I've seen the utilization of hammering waking hours reserved to be undone I've perfected the riddles for what is such afar, I shot the unconsciousness I've pressured the listening echo of subservience fairness without completely being unstable I've outplayed the wars of grounds the dying time has been spent
but now I felt the casualty and now I kept the minor fault taken away, stones were thrown inevitably
the swing died from the back trap the tapping of the leather made its perfect rhythm the lever changed the file it holds to a disguise
climbing at the steep hill climbing on the weary decadence climbing in my breaking veins
a way appeals the bridge dry ocean lies the making freeze passing by the killing wave
I haven't seen how many miles away it is as is; not knowing. Ever, the clockwork declines, changing to nothing at all.
Weightless Overbearing
The pensive nothingness decenters the path of a dream with rigor, mirth and irony. Highly possible as the feeling of pondering while breathing soothes the burden of the being; like seeing the entire spectrum of light and darkness, fishing on a sunken castle lake of a setting, free with delirium and wine.
Play the music below if you want.
a portrait hole
Erika Ruiz
19 [27 August 1990]
Manila, Philippines
dreams inspire me
surrealist dissection
By the way, this is just for the expression of and for the self; so as to escape, be fit for a refuge. Non-fiction and surrealism might often insert itself. This is a storage of the raw.
