I was living in present; that was what I thought,
and then I realized I was not, but i was moving.
From one world to another.
From one consciousness to another.
From one sense to another.
Each of them felt real, each of them made me alive,
each of them killed me.
But I just couldn't stop, because I'm addicted.
I'm addicted to the unreal feeling of being real,
to the alive feeling of being killed,
to the blissful feeling of bittersweetness.
I want to fall deep inside, to bury myself more.
But the strings bound me in a firm knot.
The loudness keeps me awake. I am aware.
I know yet I don't.
I understand yet i'm confused.
I hate it yet I seek for it.
I am not me who think that I is myself,
yet I know, myself is more than what I am thinking of.
Because I have more than one me who are actually myself.
Could you make out?
Which one is me? Which one is myself?
No you couldn't, because I couldn't either.
The me, who I think who I am, actually is not myself.
Mask of faces, mask of lies, hidden within talents.
- 2016.09.08 by J. Ren
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Fiddling with Words
RandomJust a simple writing of what come to mind at the moment. A poet? Yes a bit, but not entirely. English is not my mother language, but i love talking and writing in English. It's easier for me to convey anything through it. So, I'm sorry for the...
