Metamorphosis

I read Jaybabe's blog post and said to myself "You didn't have it this bad, but you stopped waiting and moved on... alone"

We've all been through one form of struggle or the other, and to us they weigh just as much as other people's regardless of the magnitude and/or the situation.

As the popular saying goes: God bless the child that can hold its own...

I run a life where all I have is my instinct and my dream. Nothing else. I am a dreamer, and I try to use my dream to carve out my what you would refer to as reality. And once my reality doesn't not fill the same space that my dream occupies, I move into the OR. Time for some serious surgery. And somewhere during the surgery procedure, I cut of cells that I instinctively see preventing growth. The process hurts. I'll perish if I lie. To survive, my world developed hormones for quick healing, not without leaving a scar to remind me of what was and the pain that results out of. It stings.

I have learned to use my dream as a light to survive; visions of indescribable occurrent fills my before many a time with little or no knowledge what they be. My only tool to uncover these visions is a tool of absolute precision, and what I'll advice everyone to take very good care of... TIME.

As ugly as it may, a new wave has begun, it falls on the mare side of my vision. A nightmare. My wings are opening, preparing to lift up to higher grounds gaurding my sanity inflight. There'll be no surgery, no scar, but there'll be momories. And bad memories, I promise you, hurts a million ton more than scars. The gravity of burden I shall bear might want to weigh me down, prepared, I shall muster all the thrust in my guts. Some close ones might get burnt from the steam I shall give off. Especially those I might be leaving behind. My heart is little and fragile, only so much I can take.

Even as my heart bleeds from ethereal shock, I regenerate and adapt to my new found height.
Secrets are like bubbles of pain we make, floating around in the open, and becomes visible when they burst, spreading pain like tuberculosis. Unlike wine, it gets worse with time.

There's so much shit you have to go through to get out of the gutter. And a baptism of fresh experience is required to wash away the stench of your past.

Ganja-ly speaking, God is a spider - and we are all entagled in her web - sitting at the centre observing all things with her all seeing eyes.

Equipped with TIME, I shall screw until my dream comes.

God bless the weak, and sustain the strong. May it be.