Underneath the deteriorating above were tangled burgundy ribbons. The messages from below were throwing the heat. Its war is ended.
A deep resting in the middle, the innovation entertains itself. I was sleeping, wretches innocence on the side, not controlling the changes. I dreamt of waking up, eyes still closed reaching idleness and visioning the setting, seeing an old pair of footing in front. Quasi-awake, I sensed the heaviness of an entirety lifting my physics. I felt I was extremely heavy, not wanting to be elated at the same time as free-flowing. I felt the pain of my solidity as to where I was held. I was seeing without my eyes, outside my core. I disconnected and reconciled. I opened my eyes and saw the footing, shaking.
The house was dying, falling, evaporating. I held on to what seemed to be the adhesion to survival and saw the wretched innocence with red eyes, wide open, looking directly at me and expressing the footing wasn’t of anyone’s possession. I just held on to what I deemed, firmly stitched. I woke up, I was dreaming again.
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.
