Let's start a new project

Let's start a new project
And as any other journey, never give up is the key.
Pandas and their plants are burning, whether or not we agree
Energies in flux; your luck's not karma ~ it's nothing
You say please and throw it, but the bird has just one wing

Careless, aimless, flights of fancy. Take a little hit of this.
Croquembouche or necromancy? What's your pleasure little sis?
Self-forgiveness takes a minute, but it's time that we are owed.
We must travel through ourselves on this beguiling, mirrored road.
 
We must travel through ourselves on this beguiling mirrored road .

Acknowledge the spatial disorientation between our eyes and the reflection .

Lost in the wild abandoned and alone I've left tracks of blood spilt on stone .

Danced with monsters I lured by my scent and attraction .

I need not look far to pick a bone with God and the bones be my own .

I fulfilled my role as prey and granted many predators their satisfaction .

Deepened this void as my loss has grown

The bits of my soul siphoned off left me high on dissociation .

There is not much more left that could break me .

I only grow more brittle and frail with each day passing .

The welling of tears will fall like snow from pine needles after the sun comes out .

Puddles gather on the ground and show patches of heaven on earth .

Frozen and stiff under the cold moon's light .

This body will not keep the limbless traveler bound .

No more than beast are men who'll snuff out the mind that moves.

I'm no longer captured by the illusions of power.
 
I'm no longer captured by the illusions of power
or illusions of grandeur
or the thought that chains chain
like a phoenix, I will rise again
too small to keep me within bars
too strong to keep me in their hands

I fly too high above them
 
I fly too high above them
The truest part of my spirit
They could never hope to reach me
Each time the danger took my body
My soul would take flight
I've flown so far above the pain
Yet I circle these remains so I can land
Each time I soar I feel less attached
Upon return I'm reminded of attacks
So I fly so high above them
Losing sight of even myself
The only part of me they can't put their hands on is the part of me that left
 
The only part of me they can't put their hands on is the part of me that left.
Search though they may, they can't find me
Not in height nor in depth.
My soul set free by love so sweet
Flown to its source beyond the sky
My pain though deep can't stop my flight
Try as it may with all its might
Higher and higher I soar each time
One day I'll be gone
To a land sublime.
 
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To a land sublime,
beyond sickly seas,
we had set our sights
on illusions.

Can a boy be kind
beneath his disease?
Flights of fancy fight
our confusions.

When the tide goes out,
my abandonment
knows that there are no
chances of luck.

Don't entertain doubts
of your specialness.
You're like me and I'm
Fancy as F**k.
 
You're like me and I'm
Fancy as F**k.

Gold painted trailer trash
Repurposed junk

Maybe I shine bright
At just the right angle

Has it always been about
How I make others feel?

When God created man,
Did God create a boy?
 
Did God create a boy
Or a soulless little sinner?

Did he really feel remorse
Or just fear of being caught?

What happened made him smile
But cry the very next day

How many times does it take
To be beyond redemption?
 
To be beyond redemption?
a line I fear to have crossed

I sit and think
I laid and thought

it can't be what it seems
 
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It can't be what it seems.
I never tried to fight.
I never told him stop.
I fell into his trap.

It can't be what it seems.
He told me it was fun.
Forget the tears at night.
They don't mean anything.

It can't be what it seems.
The memories are so old.
The flashes are just dreams.
So I'll shut up and just move on.
It's better for everyone.
 
It’s better for everyone
to keep my silence, to bury myself
beneath the rubble of his touch,
to ignore, forget, deny, repress
shadows on the sunporch, plaid
webbing on lawn chairs, scent
of pines seared like sap crackling
in a campfire, echoing chimes
to catch the breeze and stifle cries.
 
Wow, thank you, guys, for your very good and touching additions to the thread.
And you all follow the format I asked as well :)
 
to catch the breeze and stifle cries

... to catch the breeze and stifle cries
the leaves and the branches
create their own sounds
enhanced by the transformation
of the air to cyclone wind...
the elements prove
they can scream louder
than a desperate voice of agony
from a mere person;
but it is the energy
sapped from all
who are suffering,
swallowed together,
that creates
the raging storm.
 
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... to catch the breeze and stifle cries
the leaves and the branches
create their own sounds
enhanced by the transformation
of the air to cyclone wind...
the elements prove
they can scream louder
than a desperate voice of agony
from a mere person;
but it is the energy
sapped from all
who are suffering,
swallowed together,
that creates
the raging storm.
the raging storm
inside me bleeds
for the boy I used to be
gone in the wind
despair in the air
clouds gather
replaced with fear
not for the faint of heart
pain turned to art
for the betterment of myself
the storm settles
but never leaves
for the betterment of myself
 
For the betterment of myself
I risk Truth.
Not of what was, will be or should have been,
But of what Is.
This is hard. Very hard.

I am still here, alive.
The past is a shadow, ephemeral.
The power it has over me is also ephemeral.
Without form or flesh. Lifeless.
All Life comes from me. Now.

I do not consent to:
The version of Me split open at 10 and left ruined.
The Monster-Me that must be caged to protect.
The half-man Me who feels nothing the next day.
The computer Me.
The Me who dreams of mazes in the Dark.
The hidden Me who hid a treasure.

All of those Mes were in the end mere slight of hand.

I am flesh, history and unknown.
Like a tree I bear internal marks of each epoch.
But if you cut me open to view those marks you won't find me there.

The Truth is Winter and Spring,
Leaves grown and fallen,
Life nurtured and lost.
Twisted branches growing for decades
To bloom again this year, at least.

The Truth is hard.
 
The Truth is hard.

The truth is hard
and cold
and unpleasant
and unwelcome

The truth is a bastard
a son-of-a-bitch
a muthafucka
withstands whatever you throw at it

The truth
cannot be explained with language
can never be fully understood
doesn't give a fuck about feelings
isn't avoidable when it shows up

The truth is tough to deal with
The truth is just tough.
So am I all of those and all of that.
I myself am the the truth
 
I myself am the truth
Through silence and sound
Into the arms of the cruel
From inside the wicked womb
I entered this world
With nothing, but the truth.

So rape me.
Abuse me.
Hate me.
Confuse me.
Truth is..
I was never yours
 
I was never yours
At times it's hard
Not to notice

It feels like
All I ever am is just
A never ending reaction

What you did to me
Something stolen with not
An intention of being returned

Impossible actions to react to
Properly taken advantage
of everything I knew

But I am new
 
but I am new
he said annoyed
so you must do it for me
and stretched his dancing muscles in his leotard
how can he be new
if i'm the smallest here
and do not know a thing
unpeel me he said with a wink
I obeyed as always
 
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