Relapse

"Is love a tender thing? it is too rough,

Too rude, too boisterous, and it pricks like thorn. "

And yet, Romeo chose to be poisoned by each of its thorns.

Have you ever laughed just to relish most the point where it breaks in to a cackle? Have you ever tuned your earphones just so loud that you can't hear yourself howl? Have you ever spotted a candy stick on a Christmas tree to catch a smell of your childhood for a fleeting moment just to cringe to breathe that moment again? Have you ever taken the name of God in a language unknown and felt like it meant the universe? Have you ever wanted the painter to color your body and soul and yet, take off every hue so brushed? Have you ever wanted love to kiss your feet while your eyes are floored in worship?

Surrender.

You are forever what you have seen and heard, even if you deny having been influenced. Amidst all this confusion, I stand, wondering if I am. And if I am, then what is it that I am searching for? Perhaps nothing. And out of that nothingness sprout the indecisive devises of my futility. Imagining every character as an antagonist, I am striving to finish my story drafted in morbid delusion. I beg for respite at the turn of every page only to become the last words that either get washed away or are smudged by an impatient proof-reader's soiled thumb. There is an alter at the end of the narrow aisle that I walk, where I make deals of my punishments, prejudiced in statutes. 

Has it ever happened that your eyes have succumbed to sleep, losing all your thoughts, and your mind and limbs and dreams have caught fire? And awaken hysteria has never felt better? Feels like I have looked the stars in the eyes and ended up walking in to an ocean. Cold. Water.