Insane

Should I speak? Should I bother shaking hands? Am I weak If I leave it as it stands? I've submerged And I've surfaced with the blame I guess I'm no good, I guess I'm insane Should I go, if she calls out my name? And if she bleeds, should I wipe up the stain? And if I'm low, can I drown in this rain? I guess I'm no good, I guess I'm insane And I hate when you say That I never fight for you Sometimes you breathe All over my scar And you always end up Closer than close That's where I give in Should I confess The actions of a hand In my mind I'll betray you once again Why should I climb? What is there to gain? This is no good This is insane And I hate when you say That I never fight for you Sometimes you breathe All over my scar And you always end up Closer than close That's whenre I give in You're taking, you're taking You're taking me down You're taking, you're taking You're taking me down And you always end up Closer than close That's where I give in

The wrap up

“I wondered if that was how forgiveness budded; not with the fanfare of epiphany, but with pain gathering its things, packing up, and slipping away unannounced in the middle of the night.”

Of growing up and screaming dreams..

If being a kid is about learning how to live, then being a grown-up is about learning how to die....

Sometimes she wishes she'd never grown up..stuck around in the limbo. Staring out at the open yard... burning, raining, rambling, shivering in the warmest of mornings at the thoughts of a desperately forgotten hour. 

Till all that was left were... overrated connections to be blamed, ties to be chided &  lifetimes to be censured.

Beguiled childhood ! the celebration of living & acceptance of conjured maladies ... Perhaps pain is indeed beautiful while it lasts, because it seldom does.

.

The world is better in black & white....and red.

“How happy is the blameless vestal’s lot!
The world forgetting, by the world forgot.
Eternal sunshine of the spotless mind!
Each pray’r accepted, and each wish resign’d”





.

 “We cross our bridges as we come to them and burn them behind us, with nothing to show for our progress except a memory of the smell of smoke, and the presumption that once our eyes watered.”

and... she keeps going back.. to the pages that make sense....

"Nothing is perfect," sighed the fox.
But he came back to his idea.
"My life's very monotonous," he said. "I hunt chickens; men hunt me.
All chickens are just alike, and all the men are just alike.
And in consequence, I am a little bored.
But if you tame me, it'll be as if the sun came to shine on my life.
I shall know the sound of a step that'll be different from all the others.
Other steps send me hurrying back underneath the ground.
Yours will call me, like music out of my burrow.
And then look: you see the grain-fields down yonder?
I do not eat bread. Wheat is of no use to me.
The wheat fields have nothing to say to me. And that is sad.
But you have hair that is the color of gold.
Think how wonderful that will be when you have tamed me!
The grain, which is also golden, will bring me back the thought of you.
And I shall love to listen to the wind in the wheat…"
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.
.
.
.

.
So the little prince tamed the fox.
And when the hour of his departure drew near—
“Ah,” said the fox, “I shall cry.”
“It’s your own fault,” said the little prince.
“I never wished you any sort of harm; but you wanted me to tame you…”
“Yes that is so”, said the fox.
“But now you’re going to cry!” said the little prince.
“Yes that is so” said the fox.
“Then it has done you no good at all!”
“It has done me good,” said the fox, “because of the color of the wheat fields.”






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