The Power of Locks

And the world is making a huge fuss about it. Whether your parents, friends or even your lovely pets.

The unnatural. The taboo. The spaces that consist behind the closed doors. The restricted. The forbidden. The don’ts. The what ifs. The unseen, invisible and the unexplained. The monster under the bed.

The mysteries of life is what fires up the curiosity of people and therefore adds vigor and color to the everyday life. We are tired of what we know and see if what we are experiencing is truly what life truly is. And yet, such thing as what I’ve just said is what you already knew and probably bored out of your sofa, reading this post. Probably, you don’t have a sofa but this is how predictable the world may seem.

 

What use is a box if it is empty? Most probably to fill in with new things that could fill the space and meet its capacity. However there is a completely different box. Unopened and in the darkest corner of your basement. It is no ordinary box. It is a black metal box and has a lock and can only be unlocked with a certain set of numbers. It may contain several things you can think of based from the dimensions of the box. It can be huge, small but it doesn’t matter because it all depends on what you can make out of it. The set of numbers are unknown. The thing or things that could be inside is unknown. It could be anything. It could be nothing. But you ask yourself, “What great thing could be possibly locked inside this box?” but in the back of your head, something whispers that it could be empty. The lock is deceiving you. The limit is what makes your mind go wild. But your mind is curious and it disregarded the possibility of the nothingness inside the locked box. Because we are never contented with anything empty and we always put things inside that we can think of that will fit.

Let us try and open the box. You see a 4-digit number lock. The possibilities of each set of number are now crowding your mind. Like endless spoiled and impatient little children waiting in line, screaming for their respective turns but which will you choose first? It doesn’t matter and you began entering random set of numbers with the hopes to unlock the box. You have entered the trial and error stage. Your impatience is growing. Another number set. One after the other. You wait for the click–the signal that you succeeded unlocking the box. Silence. Wrong. You try for another set of numbers. In this situation, you see your masochistic side. Your patience is wearing thin. You cannot open the box, yet you try. You are tired. You lost too much time unlocking the box. What is inside, became your obsession.

So I leave the decision to you. Now, as long as there is still time left for you to enjoy the remainder of your life. You can hide the box and leave it alone for the rest of your life and go back to where you left off, or you can try and open the box because you still cling to the hope you have. The latter has consequences. Severe ones. But one thing is for sure: you cannot bring back the time you have used to open the box. Still, the possibility of it being empty is not ruled out but it is not what you believe. There is something.

Take the first option, leave and forget about everything then stop reading this post right now and go back to your own life.

Take the second option, read on and prepare for the consequences.

I had opened the box and the number is 2710.

The box is empty.

What use is a box if it is empty? Most probably to fill in with new things that could fill the space and meet its capacity. However this is a completely different box. You found a box that is full of nothing. This box took almost half of your time being alive and you have nothing. But this is the only box you have right now. This is now in your possession. Everything that you could have been at this point in time could have been different. But you chose the box. The empty metal box. Which has nothing. You found your life. You found what you are looking for. And time has never deprived you of the chance to start all over again.

 

It is in itself what we could not see or obscured from our vision and understanding is what makes the little neurons in our brains ignite and floor the gas pedal to power up the engine of Hope. To venture the unknown, the future and the possible past that are never truly there. The futility of men to seek such water-less trenches deep below the grounds of sanity, into the dark, engulfing void where severe consequences and uncertainty lie. The risks are hanged and weighed in the balance with a continuous increase to topple the stack of what is at stake, what you bargained which consists of the things that you loved most. It is where man finds the entrance to madness.

Down the rabbit-hole where Alice faced the unnatural is the place where we turn the tables, close the curtains and tread to the un-walkable path. It is not about courage. It is not about bravery. It is not about safety and certainty but a question that has to be answered, “Are you mad enough to give up all that you know to replace them with something…exquisitely sophisticated?”

Remove the doubts and lies; take all of the irregularities, the chaos, entropy, discord and everything that can possibly lead to destruction and severing of ties. Of all that is left is an uneventful life, place and time. A colorless world woven out of the true meaning. Without obscurity and thinking. Reasoning and imagination will leave the world and all we have there is and all that our brains will do is to kill every brain cell in side of it because we have come to the time of a collective acceptance of information. No questions asked, the stimuli aren’t enough, the mind is in deep slumber and the information itself has grasped and hold our brains to empower an idea. The evolution of ideas some of us may recognize as Memetics. An unseen revolution in an entirely different realm of reality whereas the generators of ideas are now being ruled by its creation.

Face the consequences. Locks are deceptions and discovery.

High Walls and Open Spaces

This is for the forgotten and bloody, yet unbroken.

We keep our hands up straight, unstained

Under this skin, we find that conflict of nonexistence

Treading an imaginary path of notes sustained.

 We will never get tired of searching

of things we cannot have

When pain takes a whole different meaning

as something we can’t live without.

We feel alive with each time our hearts broke

and letting us die as our minds choke

in silence brought by the chills of open doors

curling the wisps of smoke with unfair scores.

Then everyone around that sees couldn’t believe

leading to be ridiculed for everyone to see

the pitiful image of a coward’s weep

as the tears fall beside the people’s spits.

To whom it may concern

Fabrication only lies when I look into those eyes. The way it fascinates me is in such at an exemplary level to marvel upon my own thoughts and stir it by yours. Even so, it compels me to abandon clarity and face the unknown emotions filed up with every single feature you resonate. The vibrant colors you possess marches in a way that it keeps me from hanging on for nothing. Just observing Nature’s organic wonder embellished in your name that captures the beauty so unique yet far from my reach.

You leave a trail of amazement that I consume yet turning my excitement to grief. There were too many people that see you for who you are, yet I can compare it from what I see. From who you are to me, and it’s what matters most because you were with me everytime a broken clock tells the correct time twice a day. What I could make of you without limits and it’s already on process. I am immortalizing you through words and I wish you’d appreciate that.

For a story told in verses and paragraphs, of death and rebirth, of beauty and madness, of loneliness and hopelessness, to visit the good despite my suffering from lack of spoken words only to be filled by an imaginary cowardly voice, that speaks of nonesense for all people except you. And this is for you alone.

A work of terrible fiction based from my experience. So I must apologize for every wrong choice of words and for every unbelievable nightmares this could possess in order to amplify the things I feel.

In other words, where you are, even every night where you sleep. Lying on your bed in between those warm sheets, I exist. Through memories of indirectness and whines. I want to be as discreet as I can be until we see each other face to face. And this written work shall serve as the bidding for every night, to watch you sleep, remove your fears and wipe away all of your tears to sing you a lullaby and kiss you good night.

Receding In A Negative Narrative

It’s not the time to seek refuge

to the fulfilling peace brought by razors

and delicately harness the pain from my thoughts

until I cry out your name in anguished voice.

 

The words are cutting deep

to my chest and the heavens felt

how pathetic my state have become

yet you’re an angel surrounding me

inside this hole of uncertainty.

 

My life is hanging on a balance to support

the weight you’re placing on one side

as those feelings weigh a ton

and I spring upwards to the sky

and fell down with scraped knees and broken bones.

 

But I wrote this piece in cheap words

to better exemplify the pain

along with the sound of the rain

and its waters running along to the path of your name.

And it’s not easy to see

how everything I feel could be

resonating inside your head

and realize how drastic I could get.

 

But I keep hoping that I’d see you again

and if the seraphs forbid, you would sweetly look into my eyes

and slowly melt the thing I held close to my limbs

and quickly look away after seeing my deluded dreams

and I would never utter a word.

I’ll walk past by knowing that

second glances don’t mean anymore

unless that it’s something that I am yearning for

such as that of those pair of eyes you own imbued with glamour.

 

You could have me as I am.

As of someone that would be there to understand

and I may not have anything that most men have in common

but I’m always be here for a shoulder to lean on.

How I can always be an open novel

that you could rip and tear its pages

that doesn’t care if you broke its spine–

or have its cover resigned

along with the title that is screaming of more than just words

passing meaningless to your course–

that could be sold in a cheap price on a store

and leave me for someone that deserves you more

as to how a child replaces his toys, outgrowing them of bore.

 

These dying words shall tell you how I keep struggling

to keep pacing with the signs you’re making

visible to my heart’s blind eyes

impaired by the night’s confusing lights

that once led me to your presence

and turn me to this monster’s statement of defense

as a story no one could ever understand

and possibly the last thing I could say

before I start to let go of your hand,

because the music never stops from making you sway

from the melodies only you know how to play.

But I’ll keep listening to the pattern of the tone

and mess with the chords

and compose my own

and sing to you the madness

you won’t forget to ask me how to perform.

 

Amidst of all these pain, I’ll stay

even I’ll live with a life, forever feeling gray

of these things that are purely inside my mind

won’t cease to manifest as you crawl back and forth in this head

that could shatter almost everything that I own

because I am used in to being torn

and after all, I’m just a lost boy

with scraped knees and broken bones.

Espoir

Nobody understands.

Everyday in his life are memories etched in every self-inflicted scars where the it wants it to be.

“It feeds with pain,” he says “So let them indulge upon me. I am their master.”

Years passed and he is tired of crying anymore. He is too damaged to cry. Now, it only seems that pain has abandoned him. Numb from grief of everyday’s fucked-up disorder. A mouth sealed shut, not wanting to be wrong, nor be heard for he himself was a terrible mistake the world has to offer. A rock sitting by the pavement. Invisible, behind those smiles. Eyes longing for attention and understanding. Yet, he sits by his bedroom window, looking at the constellations and counting his dead dreams and for another time, he takes again the razors and proceed to let himself feel again. To feel in the midst of numbness. To show these four walls how he struggles to survive in this world he cannot comprehend.

Loneliness has cast a void upon him. A hole that can never be filled. A bottomless pit. It is the place of solace where time does not exist. Just another abstraction of nature that consumes insanity.

Dreams are the only thing that keeps him going. As a small being in this world, he knows, he can make a change. He can change. He had fallen countless of times. Hit the ground with bloody forehead and lips. His wrists trailing with crimson ink.

He caught a drip of blood with his fingers and wrote on the walls of his mind,

“This madness too shall cease and will forever be buried under the depths of my consciousness. I know this all too shall pass and when the time comes, I will be ready to break this walls and shout to the world how I could turn this planet on the tips of my fingers and hold it against the galaxies to show how a little trash could be an asset to this reality. I have lived and will continue living for tomorrow. I have broken the chains that binds me to this rotting Hell.”

As he wrote the last words, the space has begun to crumble, falling under the vast void surrounding him. He stood on an empty space, where he is among the stars of the universe and its alluring beauty. So he started to make what has become.

Because perception is everything.