Inexistency

No victories, no pain, no sorrow
for there's nothing existent
that won't cease tomorrow

And although it might take a while
to end and disappear
you can be sure it's never been

All you see and feel and hear
is nothing but an illusion
in the reality of the Universe

And even when everything seems all
it's just your mind and your body
segregating chemicals within
to ensure its survival

For nothing is, or has become,
just because it never was.

And in being in complete solitude I have become one with the world.

It was invented that the lack of human solidarity was making a white blindness. I'm asking myself whether my daily suffering has turned me white.

The darkness of the night

The dark tones grow slowly in the night
and everything becomes bluish and purplish
just like the dead that are buried six feet under
being slowly devoured by tons of insects.

The moon is shining rays of striking white
but on the earth they do not bestow their light.

Hear your thoughts become louder
and your heartbeat turn deafening
as the wind decided to stroke your hair
your face turned from pale blue to red.

And all the while the animals flee
hiding and seeking shelter in some tree.

Now rises every noise around you
as if they were once oppressed voices
and your blood speeds inside your veins
while your body starts running wild.

Come now wanderer through the night
hope that no wolf will make you fright.

To believe and to not believe*

Olivia: Simone, you have a gift. You can see things that other people can't. I don't doubt that. But wherever you think this gift came from, or whoever you think bestowed it upon you, it's simply an anomaly. I know that because I'm an anomaly. I have moved things with my mind. I've lit things on fire. I've caught bullets mid-air. I've seen things that people only dream about. I've seen... the seams between universes ripped apart. Things that humans shouldn't see. People make up explanations, assign meanings to things without knowing, because it's reassuring, comforting. But I can't do that. Because I know too much. It's all just numbers. And the invaders, as you call them—— they're just better at math than we are.

* in Fringe, 5th series

Dying in this spiral of blood-sweat-&-tears
I rest my soul in your metal heart
and deliver into your hands my charcoal heart

be gentle, don't in the end dust it apart. 

Nothing to lose but the beat of the drum.

Once your detachment is complete and you got nothing to lose, the only thing attached to you is your beating heart.

On bleeding and dying

How can someone bleed so much and so many times and not die?
How can someone die so many times and not disappear?

You bleed but at the same time, even though the wound is open, there is a huge battle being fought for you to scar. And with time, eventually, you end up with a closed wound.

You die, time and time again, as you rise from your own ashes and sometimes, most of times, only a part of you dies, not the whole complexity of your being.
Yes, that must be it.

Boredom

Nothing to do but to watch time rust everything with its oxidizing clock.