"And... you got no control 'pon desperation neither your desperation got any realm ov'r the heart & 'tis the very foremost & eccentric reason that y'all still wandering xcross the chaoes of depression. Most of us youth's being lost in depression not cos we love getting swung along with misery but we seem to be getting addicted to darkness that keeps indulging us all with gratification. We want to escape from entrapped shells of masturbatory laboratory (the paradox of mind) but we got no way to come outta its darkened ways & which's why we're being lost in our own life, living moments like a stranger to oneself in a hope to find destiny that's nothing more than a delusional phase of time...," an old man reminds his youth & fills an every page of his diary with the drop... an ink of his old-fashioned tears.
when you put yourself into others shoes, you realise how it feels what it really feels to be in the moment you would have never been.
"being lost in the paradox of world,
we youth finding the purpose of life's destiny
but every time we step up to breakthrough past,
something stemming... into present with misery
we dunno recall it anymore;
dunno remember what should it be 'bout?
perhaps, when we replay past in the L-E-D of mind,
o' yes, i recognize, how it feels being lost in worldly crowd..."
and the old man completes the pages of his mischievous diary but his breaths closed the chapter of his forsaken life: Dead!
winds carry the load of his spirit & clouds blow it to ... where? To hell? or To paradise? Nobody knows where life goes to after leaving this world & what place it calls its home but whatever it is, "as long as you've life," an old man voice, ".. you dunno live it to the fullest or right...
... everybody wants peace but we already living into shattered pieces
depression's what we've rejoiced &.... heartaches be what we embraced with forbidden kisses,"
the spirit of old man blows away in the ashes of white clouds but the pages of his diary, laid down on the desk, get re-shuffled by the hum of winds... & the very last page of his diary reads: ".. cos there's no control 'pon heart. If we had, we'd never be in the state of misbelief that hurts."
when you put yourself into others shoes, you realise how it feels what it really feels to be in the moment you would have never been.
"being lost in the paradox of world,
we youth finding the purpose of life's destiny
but every time we step up to breakthrough past,
something stemming... into present with misery
we dunno recall it anymore;
dunno remember what should it be 'bout?
perhaps, when we replay past in the L-E-D of mind,
o' yes, i recognize, how it feels being lost in worldly crowd..."
and the old man completes the pages of his mischievous diary but his breaths closed the chapter of his forsaken life: Dead!
winds carry the load of his spirit & clouds blow it to ... where? To hell? or To paradise? Nobody knows where life goes to after leaving this world & what place it calls its home but whatever it is, "as long as you've life," an old man voice, ".. you dunno live it to the fullest or right...
... everybody wants peace but we already living into shattered pieces
depression's what we've rejoiced &.... heartaches be what we embraced with forbidden kisses,"
the spirit of old man blows away in the ashes of white clouds but the pages of his diary, laid down on the desk, get re-shuffled by the hum of winds... & the very last page of his diary reads: ".. cos there's no control 'pon heart. If we had, we'd never be in the state of misbelief that hurts."
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