My Getaway Car: 28 Days

She is my getaway car. She makes me happy when I can't see past the black mist of misery. She is the life jacket that saves me from drowning. How she does this, I do not know. But if she ever stops, I will be washed away from the surface of this planet.

I cannot believe only 28 days are left before my getaway car arrives. And I still got so much to do before then. For the last few day I have been trying to stop myself from thinking about it. I don't want to make any plans so I wont be disappointed. All I want to do is get out there and forget about everything awaiting for me back here.

For some mysterious reason I can't think of anything else to write. It seems I have so much to say, I can't think of where to begin. I spend the biggest part of the day listening to music. And now I'm not sure how I am feeling. Don't get me wrong. Apart from Julia, music is the only thing the can make me really happy (or stable at least) and make me cry at the same time. But it kind of comes with a package. It bring out things inside of me I rather keep locked at the back of my head. Maybe it is a good thing in the long term: releasing the demons that haunt me at night. However, short term speaking it feels shit. The strangest or most fascinating thing about music is how it can have so many different meanings to different people. For example, one shit pop song can mean something miles away to me compared to what it means to the next person that walks past my house. And if I fail my exams next week, I can blame music because instead of revising I have been looking up lyrics or singing or dancing or just laying down and losing myself in the beautiful sound coming out of my speakers. Taking every word like it is a breath of life. Like it is my savior. My hero.

Second Coming

The bridge over troubled waters,
You are to me,
You fall to pieces, dropping me,
Into the strange and unexplored.

Jumps, my father into this ocean,
To try and grab me by the soul,
Yet to be repelled and far too late,
By the beast of the unknown.

Down,
Down,
Down,
I fall and drop,
Waiting for him to rescue and preserve me,
My dear father, looking for the girl:
So innocent and harmless; sweet and pure.

There I see him, every bit in action,
Opposite he found, to what he was looking for,
A creature,
Sour and evil.

He turned around,
To look somewhere else,
Leaving me behind, to the beast,
By the name of YOU.

Crazy: 29 Days

To the one and only; the one I love,

I'm like a lunatic, you make me sick. You make me act like a maniac. You are truly the only one who can do this to me. You make me get so crazy. I go schizo. I get so insane, one minute I want to slit your throat, the next I want to kiss you. You make me crazy the way we act like two maniacs. But if there is one thing (there are a lot of things) about you that I admire, it is because you stay with me. Maybe because you are as crazy as I am. When I look at you I can see an angel in your eyes, but if I look deeper inside I see a freakish little side. Like a devil in disguise, you are always full of surprises. You are so young but you are plenty more mature than those other little girls. You are crazy and cool. Even though I stay in your business you have always stay out of mine. I wonder what is on you mind sometimes. You are the ink to my paper, what my pen is to my pad. The moral, the very fiber, the whole substance of my life. You are my reason for being, the meaning of my existence. If it was not for you, I would never be able to write this shit as I do and the irony is you rely on me as much as I rely on you. You inspire me. You provide me the lighter fluid, the fuel to my fire. You are my entire supply: the gas, the match and igniter. The only way that I'm able to stay stable is that you are the legs to my table. If you were to break I would fall on my face. You are essential to me, you are air I breath and I believe if you ever leave me I would have no reason to be. You are the word that I am looking for when I am trying to describe how I feel inside and the right one just won't come to my mind. You are the root to my evil, you let my devil come out me.

There is not much they could do or say to phase me. People think I'm little bit crazy and even occasionally you have to step in to save me, to make me stop and think about it. Sometimes I forget what other people may think. A lot of folks probably wouldn't know how to take me if they heard some shit I lay down before I erase it. I may be a little too fast paced because my mind is racing. And I could give a fuck what category you place me, as long as I am when I'm pushing up daisies and gone as long as you place me amongst one of them greats. When I hit the heavenly gates, I will be cool beside you. For every single die-hard fucker who embraced me, I am thankful for the talent in which god gave me. I am thankful for the environment that he placed me. Believe it or not, I thank my parents for how they raised me in that neighborhood daily that jumped and chased me. It only made me what I am today. Regardless of what anybody believe who hates me, they are not going to break me or strip me of my credibility. They are only going to be in for a rude awakening. This is my story and can't nobody tell it for me. Take this journey with me as I take you through this nifty little place that I once used to call home sweet home. I have been down that road and now I am back, sitting on square one and trying to pick myself up.

Guess Who Is Back?: 31 Days

Tears are running down my face as if they are sprinting for the gold. And I'm a mess. Music playing non-stop for 3 days. And I'm crazy. I see you happy and sublime.

That day the rain was washing her window with a force and the wind was trying to break in. Her eyes were redder then strawberries in late June and her whole body was shaking. As she looked into the broken sky, she saw 'it'. Something never seen before by her. And at that moment she knew she will never see it again. So beautiful. A perfect harmony. For the next few days it was all she could think of. Every night after that unforgettable event has occurred, she would lay in her cold bed, covered by her 3 blankets or her 'protectors' thinking about what she saw. But as the sleepless night went on, the little details started to fade away. The once called unforgettable, bit by bit left her mind. Soon the whole image was erased. And she was left asking:- "When will I see you again?"

Can't you see what you are doing to me? 1 whole year. 12 long months. 356 painful days. I have been a good girl. I have played my position, never stepped out of line. I woke up every morning and dragged my heavy suffering body out of bed. But, now I had enough. 31 days left and I don't think I can make it. I am coming home.

He never thought he will be the one to whom the friendship or relationship would mean more. In fact, he feared that he might become that person. If there was a device which could capture the state of our mind. Like a camera which could take a picture of our thoughts. He would be the one to invent it. And it seems the more he thinks, the more lost he becomes. He doesn't know anything anymore and when he tries to sleep it off: it does not help.

Weak Or Not Weak: 50 Days

Death does not scare me. The pain that might accomplish the named: Does. When my day comes, I want it to be quick. To spare the pain and end the suffering forever. Some people might see it as weak. You know, some folks think you should fight till the end. To tell you the truth, I don't give a shit. I never did. Fuck what they think! Weak or not weak? If you are dying and there is no hope left that you pull through it, why fight the pain and suffering? You're going to fucking die anyway.

I really, really want to hate you. But I just can't find a reason to.
The way you talk. The way you walk. The way you laugh. The way you act. It makes me sick to my stomach. Yet, there these few seconds now and again. They so small that if you blink, you might miss them. During these precious moment, I sense something different inside you. Something beautiful. Divine.

Sometimes when I'm bored and have nothing to do or I'm on the train waiting for it to pull up at the platform, I play with my mind. I imagine a ball or any sort of object. I try to make it move. Then I try to make it bounce or dance. When the object in my mind is moving to one direction, I try to make it move to the other. If the object in question in red, I try to change it into green. The little games I play with my mind; they are hard work. Maybe I should call them 'Mind Exercises'.

Recovery: 51 Days

Recovery. The mending. The healing process. The revival and upturn of our life. Or a lie and a myth to hide from the truth?

There are questions. Universal questions. Questions some devote their life to. Questions to which the answers are hidden behind the living soul. Hidden so deep inside of us or so deep within the our world but yet obviously visible, that the ones that do find the answers do not have any desire to carry on living. Our entire lives we seek to find solutions and once we do... we no long have an aim to live for. We no longer have to suffer the pain of living.

I say: "What is wrong with this world? Is the world addicted to the drama and the trauma? Why do we discriminate to generate pain and hate? Why do we preach for one, the practice the other?"
I say: "Take control of your mind. Meditate. Let your soul gravitate. The Father, The Son and the Holy Ghost, now listen to me! Send us some guidance, that's the least you can do. "
I ask: "Where is the love? Is the world insane? What is going wrong? Why are we keep on making bad decisions? Why are we at war with each other when the fucking reasons is undercover?"
And I think to myself: "As I'm getting older, the world feels like it's on my shoulders. All we care about is making money. I get lost to the wrong direction. Given by the images and the stories from the media. Infecting my mind faster then bacteria. What happened to our humanity? The lack of understanding: leading us to the commanding. The demanding. The crash landing. Notwithstanding. "

And now the camera is on you. Your soul is gone.

Empty: 52 Days

In between the lines, lay the lies and stories of my past, present and future. I love him but he doesn't love me back. I see him, and it is killing me from inside - out. It's hard to forget about you, baby, but I have to. And I will because that's what I do. I lie to myself first, before lying to others.

Empty. Confused. Hurting. Waiting for the answers to come. Looking for an exit. I could go on and on, but they are all just another way to describe me. Interesting. Me? Who is 'me'? What is 'me' made up of? What or who is the structure and the foundation of 'me?

Stop fucking with my brain,
and tell me, do you need me?
Stop messing with my heart,
and tell me, do you love me?
I need a man to hold me tight,
Not a joke or a game that just might.

She was so messed up,
She did not see,
Beyond the mid-night key.
She needs some love, so;
Don't put on a glove.
Give her what she pleads,
And she'll give you your seeds.