Sakura

You are silently waiting, you are growing old, you are dying.

And we wail and we wail, trough the songs of this everlasting drought.

The spectre's charcoal received when born has tainted the spirit.

When do we part and long for ourselves? To brazenly breathe and gawk.

Completely feel that in your hands lies the soil, so in the glistening sun,
you wish to inhale.

It retired, resigned, hopped, stopped and got clogged.
It fought, caught, released, pleased and stopped.
It came, went, fell, held and dropped.

And when it took its final gasp, the world scorched a perennial cimmerian shade

I love how nobody reads this

there could be times and feelings that never had to exist in the first place.

NO, NOTHING IS CERTAIN, NOT ANY MORE

Perhaps

I've never had a calling to be something other than the feeling I have to run away from everything.
And these days it's getting harder to get my shit together and not leave everyone behind with their thoughts to haunt them. And I wouldn't even care, I'd look for the most beautiful thing I can see and I would want to die in that moment. This feeling surpasses everything and I can't even get it in to words properly. It may make me irresponsible, but I need to be what I mean to be.

Perhaps, I like that word. So perhaps, it's one of those days. Or perhaps it's the winter.

Never shall you fake sadness as you could do happiness. The pure chill against the smiling gift.

To approve or disagree, is to want and not be free.
Only in solitary does the spectator emerge.
Able to see and feel, these worlds are bigger than us.
Yet set astray and thus they flee to come undone.