SANCTUARY

getaway to patched dimension; 10/20

i. empty broken vessels howl loudest like wild beasts in wilderness formed from a combination of nothing and everything. coin stands neutral by its overlooked circumference as two sides of it depict utopian dystopian of a person and his/her distorted reflection. is it the image or reality that projects on clean plane of your mind, a masterpiece or troublesome trash? the coin laughs at the irony of its being, dead metal deviating from assembling its origin—exploded into million uncountable films—some stays while other flops. yet no one dares to re-watch. maybe reality is distorted and reflection is truth. or is it the other way around? the coin refuse to fall on either side. it just hangs from the middle. 

ii. exploring my escapism's righteous, erroneous tendencies leading me to explosive abyss or a realm of liberation. but at this hour i'm stuck in middle of a bleak algae brimmed ocean under curvy scuba of my eyes, sinking into roughness of my upper cheek concealing chivalry of ancient pyres, death imprinted there as a reminder of my drab existence. this ain't an abyss neither a piece of freedom. i'm stuck in slaty sea, staying afloat yet diving in too deep. is it worth it or do i just leave? only to suffer in a land of another amusing atmosphere where earth and its beauty is a distant dreamy dream.

iii. tigers look at rest when you look into his eyes. mystery of post modernist world where newspaper gather like artworks in bedroom. an insomniac man sleeping with his eyes open wide. all lights are off and it's dark as daylight. he; a guest of weather—ripping through rusty roof, he's known ritualistic holy river, seeping through constructed constraints. no one can tame him. greek mythology bounces off sour milky walls as he took a circle of an old room with windows broken and dead doors barely attached to hinges. jumps with broken bones and sad soul, telling tales of long gone clocks, magic mystically spread on words, singing of spirits in a room full of mortals. yet he dared to think mortals understood. i had to laugh. not sure i laughed at him or at me.

iv. if there is hell, name it after me.

back to when satan came to tea in bleak midsummer affected afternoon, called me a sinner. no less than him.

my sin was love.

n// i want to heal out of my pain.

what did i just write? ah!