in the window, you see... 
poetry
"Your body owns a brain. It unravels and provides a string of the dreams and ideas and earth that formed it, the teacher and student of the apple of eden. Consumed, produced, consumed again. This will never end, for without brain is without heart. The heart you own, the heart that owns. It owns arteries, each a different name to you. One is an archer, who may miss, who may strike, but will always aim. It is not consumed, for it consumes. Another is Arcturus, who defends the bear and empties the buckets and owns the compass. It shan’t explain why it empties the buckets or owns the compass, but I suppose arcturus is the herdsman, the navigational aid. Another will be arachnid, yet not of eight legs but none. It has teeth and it spits venom. It crawls into you and poisons your stomach, albeit failing. Your stomach in which holds the food, the nutrients that you carry in your brain, the one of knowledge. The one that you eat and expel, devour and dismiss, accompany and ax, time again. The single omen that filters your creation in regards to intelligence and life, the life that feeds your starving womb. The womb that haunts its own emptiness. The one that destroys its walls in which they fall in hopes to welcome something new, and it may but it wont. It destroys itself to admit a life, alive it not be, but not be dead, for it never lived. I suppose I am the same."
"i think all we can do in life is do everything because what you thought you could have done and didn't, isn't really something you would have done because the only way you can fill time is by doing everything you can do. everything we do is how we were meant to do it because if we didn't then we couldn't because of the way that time works, the past cannot be changed. we consume ourselves as time consumes itself, consuming time and time consuming you as you consume yourself and as time consumes itself, therefore we also give ourselves time back from what we give time because we are time, and we are, by nature, forced to give time everything we have to offer, but we are our own time so what's the use of dwelling on the fact that time has stolen from us when we never really lost anything, just gave it back to ourselves over and over again?"
"I walk into the room, where I complete all that is already done. Time does not exist here, it only exists when I leave and it is wasted. I am consumed by the eternity of the empty handed clock, I am purged by the existence of unrequited time passing, I am held and nurtured by the exit of the door until I walk back by it again. When I exit the room it has been 90 years, so much time wanted and wasted but loved and cherished as the door forgets it was opened. We eat and are eaten, the entryway is fed and it consumes and consumes until there is no more room, but us here is more room to empty the space so however we sit here lying in wait, the room will love us and hate us and keep us until we walk out, our legs ours or not, as the door closes behind and the hallway renovations call back our steps towards more, never ending hallway. Since I have entered and stayed, the floors are now oak, an army of planks hit me down and pick me up as I am nothing and something and someone and anything. A reminder of time, as it does not exist and is pleading to, is a cry for help and a reassuring life and death and love and leaving and speaking and scowling and all it will be, something so sweet and scarring."
""Protest the right way," words spoken by my mother. She knows protest more than any other. But when it comes to myself I don't know how to protest taken place far another. "Why can't you understand??" words spoken by my father. Why should I, if I am not allowed to say the same, without being a bother? "You'll go somewhere someday," words spoken by my teacher. She hopes i go away, My words a fray Speaking feels such as slaughter. I pretend to be alright Though meaning surface level. When nobody listens i can't help But pause and reflect seeping into the effect of the pain level. on a scale of one to ten they ask, but i cannot answer, as long as i'm here my language only i'm familiar with, I fear. "You have a phenomenal mind," words spoken by my mother, Still hard to believe if not spoken from me, yet I don't bother."
Thanks for reading!! Ok byee < 3
"i think all we can do in life is do everything because what you thought you could have done and didn't, isn't really something you would have done because the only way you can fill time is by doing everything you can do. everything we do is how we were meant to do it because if we didn't then we couldn't because of the way that time works, the past cannot be changed. we consume ourselves as time consumes itself, consuming time and time consuming you as you consume yourself and as time consumes itself, therefore we also give ourselves time back from what we give time because we are time, and we are, by nature, forced to give time everything we have to offer, but we are our own time so what's the use of dwelling on the fact that time has stolen from us when we never really lost anything, just gave it back to ourselves over and over again?"
"I walk into the room, where I complete all that is already done. Time does not exist here, it only exists when I leave and it is wasted. I am consumed by the eternity of the empty handed clock, I am purged by the existence of unrequited time passing, I am held and nurtured by the exit of the door until I walk back by it again. When I exit the room it has been 90 years, so much time wanted and wasted but loved and cherished as the door forgets it was opened. We eat and are eaten, the entryway is fed and it consumes and consumes until there is no more room, but us here is more room to empty the space so however we sit here lying in wait, the room will love us and hate us and keep us until we walk out, our legs ours or not, as the door closes behind and the hallway renovations call back our steps towards more, never ending hallway. Since I have entered and stayed, the floors are now oak, an army of planks hit me down and pick me up as I am nothing and something and someone and anything. A reminder of time, as it does not exist and is pleading to, is a cry for help and a reassuring life and death and love and leaving and speaking and scowling and all it will be, something so sweet and scarring."
""Protest the right way," words spoken by my mother. She knows protest more than any other. But when it comes to myself I don't know how to protest taken place far another. "Why can't you understand??" words spoken by my father. Why should I, if I am not allowed to say the same, without being a bother? "You'll go somewhere someday," words spoken by my teacher. She hopes i go away, My words a fray Speaking feels such as slaughter. I pretend to be alright Though meaning surface level. When nobody listens i can't help But pause and reflect seeping into the effect of the pain level. on a scale of one to ten they ask, but i cannot answer, as long as i'm here my language only i'm familiar with, I fear. "You have a phenomenal mind," words spoken by my mother, Still hard to believe if not spoken from me, yet I don't bother."
Thanks for reading!! Ok byee < 3
Image from tumblr.