On Ambitions

sometimes, our brain only needs our eyes to create a delusional space between your circumstantial habitat and that of your origin. a bit of sight that airs a fit can fool even the most rational.

and thereafter the snug of your roots to its ground and the emplacements of your tips to its comfort, you wait for your color to mimic its surrounding. then you wait for its efficity but only to be dragged by humiliation and lowered esteem.

Ahh, epiphany. a coming of a bitter antidote to the poisoned creation of your own master. and only then you shut the sense and finally be able to see.

Game and Destruction

but then I guess it was all but a presupposition made by physiological needs. perhaps it is. what was true then maybe a hallucination that my mind played on me. after all, I never thought it would be plausible. each word, each smile, each tap and hug that assures me of something life never thought possible are but life's game.

and now, I guess, I'll try. no. do. I'll do forget the existence of such sweet memory but death of an existence. death of a wanting that plays on desire and obssesion but always come down to destruction.