Mistakes .The mistakes we so often make , yet so oblivious that we are making them , carving their sadistic selves into our lives , ticking like the pulse in our necks . We live on the edge of our minds , thinking , dreaming . Sixty thousand thoughts cross our minds every single day , but we don't get tired . Not ever . Humans are wondrous things , things we ourselves cannot comprehend . How our minds think , how our hands move , each pulsating beat of our undying hearts till the last drop of time .
But we are flawed , in every way . We are never perfect , and the existence of it burns recognition into the very core of our being . How we've lived knowing we're wrong most of the time , and not so right in the other . These perfect beings that God created , this intellectual race full of new creations and inventions , no matter how perfect , we make mistakes .
The pang of fear comes back over and over again , hitting me full force in my chest . No matter . The beauty of sunsets that emblazons in our eyes , or the brilliant writing of a person that could come to live in our heads , or even the low , melodious tones of a singer , enticing us with her voice and body . No matter , the perfection to the things we see or hear .
They are flawed , in every single way .
After the sun has set , and the night fills the sky with darkness , we can no longer see light , and that perfection we sought for in the morning gleam remains lost in time , as we wait for the sun to rise again . The writing of a true believer , whether we like it or not , will come to an end . A final flip of the last page , and nothing , no more than just a memory that haunts our minds . The ability of the voice from a singer will stop when she has gone past her capabilities . Then , the eternal beauty of the song that flutters among our beseeching ears will screech to a halt , the sudden break of the tension in her voice , and the beauty that we love of it betrays all , and once again proves that we are flawed , in every way possible .
Hope still exists , though hope is the one thing that keeps us living in our fantasies , our heads up in the clouds . Where there is hope , there is pain and anger , and there is also joy and laughter . Hope brings out the best in all situations , hoping for the rainbow after a storm , hoping for a flicker of smile across anothers lips . Hope also breaks us from the inside , and tear us apart without even trying . Hoping for another to live , and yet he just couldn't , no matter how much we've hoped .
It lives in our blood , coursing through our bloodstreams , creating miracles and havoc whenever it is given to us . Hope derives us from thinking about the mistakes we've done . It pushes away the fact that the truth is burning brightly in our minds , driving away what little conscious we have when we have even less of sanity . We could hope that someone doesn't catch us dancing and singing to ourselves in the shower . We could also hope that no one watches when we decide to do something so sadistic and unimaginable .
But , the truth is still there .
Painfully searing through the fabrics of our fantasies , the perfection of our imagination . We cannot undo what we know , nor forget the existence truth . We could get drowned in lies , but we'd know the truth , like a speck of red against a mass of black , the glittering stars that stand out in the night sky . We cannot change the truth , but we can alter them in ways we couldn't possibly understand , and yet the words that come out holds our confession a secret
And sometimes , when that happens , we forget .
We forget the truth , and believe the lies we have created , the ones that cover up for what we did . The lies play over and over again in our minds and soon enough , the lies that revolve around the truth gets muddled up , blurred like a man without glasses , or a canvas that is only a splash of colors . And soon we won't be able to tell from wrong to right , like seeing white from yellow , or our incapability to see the stars in the morning .
It's there . It's alive .
But we forget .
And the truth remains tangled up in our weaves of lies , a speck of sand rolling in the forever waves , caught and lost within the lies we conjure in our minds .
Nicole (:
I have made a mistake , and guilt is gripping my heart , clawing at my indifference , trying to make the truth come out by forcing the breath from my lips . So I'm sorry . For every heart ache , for everything I might have done , for my ignorance to the truth . My hidden apology remains billowing in the winds , heard but not seen , tasted but not touched . Maybe it will help and maybe it won't , but the fingers of guilt no longer grip at my heart , the sickly taste of sin no longer lingers on my lips , and I can finally breath again .
But we are flawed , in every way . We are never perfect , and the existence of it burns recognition into the very core of our being . How we've lived knowing we're wrong most of the time , and not so right in the other . These perfect beings that God created , this intellectual race full of new creations and inventions , no matter how perfect , we make mistakes .
The pang of fear comes back over and over again , hitting me full force in my chest . No matter . The beauty of sunsets that emblazons in our eyes , or the brilliant writing of a person that could come to live in our heads , or even the low , melodious tones of a singer , enticing us with her voice and body . No matter , the perfection to the things we see or hear .
They are flawed , in every single way .
After the sun has set , and the night fills the sky with darkness , we can no longer see light , and that perfection we sought for in the morning gleam remains lost in time , as we wait for the sun to rise again . The writing of a true believer , whether we like it or not , will come to an end . A final flip of the last page , and nothing , no more than just a memory that haunts our minds . The ability of the voice from a singer will stop when she has gone past her capabilities . Then , the eternal beauty of the song that flutters among our beseeching ears will screech to a halt , the sudden break of the tension in her voice , and the beauty that we love of it betrays all , and once again proves that we are flawed , in every way possible .
Hope still exists , though hope is the one thing that keeps us living in our fantasies , our heads up in the clouds . Where there is hope , there is pain and anger , and there is also joy and laughter . Hope brings out the best in all situations , hoping for the rainbow after a storm , hoping for a flicker of smile across anothers lips . Hope also breaks us from the inside , and tear us apart without even trying . Hoping for another to live , and yet he just couldn't , no matter how much we've hoped .
It lives in our blood , coursing through our bloodstreams , creating miracles and havoc whenever it is given to us . Hope derives us from thinking about the mistakes we've done . It pushes away the fact that the truth is burning brightly in our minds , driving away what little conscious we have when we have even less of sanity . We could hope that someone doesn't catch us dancing and singing to ourselves in the shower . We could also hope that no one watches when we decide to do something so sadistic and unimaginable .
But , the truth is still there .
Painfully searing through the fabrics of our fantasies , the perfection of our imagination . We cannot undo what we know , nor forget the existence truth . We could get drowned in lies , but we'd know the truth , like a speck of red against a mass of black , the glittering stars that stand out in the night sky . We cannot change the truth , but we can alter them in ways we couldn't possibly understand , and yet the words that come out holds our confession a secret
And sometimes , when that happens , we forget .
We forget the truth , and believe the lies we have created , the ones that cover up for what we did . The lies play over and over again in our minds and soon enough , the lies that revolve around the truth gets muddled up , blurred like a man without glasses , or a canvas that is only a splash of colors . And soon we won't be able to tell from wrong to right , like seeing white from yellow , or our incapability to see the stars in the morning .
It's there . It's alive .
But we forget .
And the truth remains tangled up in our weaves of lies , a speck of sand rolling in the forever waves , caught and lost within the lies we conjure in our minds .
Nicole (:
I have made a mistake , and guilt is gripping my heart , clawing at my indifference , trying to make the truth come out by forcing the breath from my lips . So I'm sorry . For every heart ache , for everything I might have done , for my ignorance to the truth . My hidden apology remains billowing in the winds , heard but not seen , tasted but not touched . Maybe it will help and maybe it won't , but the fingers of guilt no longer grip at my heart , the sickly taste of sin no longer lingers on my lips , and I can finally breath again .
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