2 years without words.

I haven't realised it's been 2 years. I love writing but I have this bad tendency to forget how good it feels to write. I do the same thing with my diary ( if it can be called a diary, it's more of a book I write in every few months or sometimes twice a year... I may be the only person whose diary lasts for 5 years ). I miss my blog, I miss expressing myself with something other than a few words on facebook here and there. I know that no one would probably read this, as I am not a famous blogger. Only 6 of my friends have added me here and due to the fact that I haven't written for a couple of years I'm quite sure this one will not be read. I just wanted to ask how some artists draw from their life and splurge into their art. I wonder if hardships make a difference in their ability to express. I feel like my mood fluctuations have no effect on my imagination, as I am sometimes most productive when bored, other when angry or nostalgic... or even on the happy-go-lucky days. I'm still trying to figure out the causes for these long periods of draught. This makes no sense, I am probably just blabbering, but sometimes blabbering leads the way to a little Alicey sort of door that hides a wonderland. I haven't been very poetic lately, as poetry sometimes restricts expression. I just want to say... I want to say things that mean nothing at all. I just want to see letters next to each other. Letters are fun. They are like tiny little drawings that make perfect sense at all times except when they deliberately don't. So... yeah.

Keys

The children remember

The girl with her dresses

She was mad, she was sad

She had lovely blue tresses

She hummed and she mumped

She danced her life and throttled

She played and she paid

For the years she packed and bottled

A smile and a laugh

A doll on her behalf

At a tea party, a pink set

A little spoon to pay the debt

A painting for a door

She traded her smile

Oblivious to the core

Intelligent for a while

Pale in the essence, a shred of luminescence

A girl of no one and no one to be

Swallowing the greed, attempting to feed

In the corner nestled and peeking to see

A head and a hand

She cut to sew together

To a sack of filthy sand

To a cruel brown feather

Keys is her name, much to her fame

Locked in a room, enslaved in a game

Excelling and dwelling reliving the scream

Carved in the glass, nailed to the frame

She is the lass of ember

The memory contender

The rain of December

The children remember

Epitaph

I thought if I laid here I could smile
I thought my soul could hear me and smile
But it did no more than stare into distance
And glance at me once in a while

It was painful to believe and worse to disbelieve
It was shameful to shed tears in shivers every eve
I had lost myself my inspiration
My own pen and paper had grown in bitterness
And hurriedly signed my condemnation

The ring in my finger was covered in rust
Tinting my spirit with the colour of copper
I believed being wise is my state of being
But being old was not the same
I was merely a shelf, a forgotten book eaten by dust

I thought if I laid here I could forget
All the pains of a universe to whom I was in debt
But I could not set free my mind
With a wooden cage intertwined

If only I could die for a moment and be reborn
If only I could hold my heart in pieces torn
If only I could lay here and put my hell at peace
Leave behind what I've loved what I've hated
Engrave on my life an epitaph and burry my corpse
Somewhere my soul can kneel down to cry over my tombstone
And mourn

Nothing

Been drained out of things to say... I just hope this dry season is followed by pouring rain...

Cup of Wine

Drink and gobble the river of wine
Sad disturbed drunken woman
Ease up your heart and put out its fires
Drink... drink away your memories
Drink your way into unconsciousness
Cup by cup... goblet by goblet
Drink and gobble the river of wine
Wander streets unawakened leaning on walls of moss
Drunk by tears never the wine
Drink and gobble the river of wine
Sad disturbed drunken woman

Death of a living

Rhythm of an undead heart
Like ashes
Like ashes in the whistles of a wind
A single beat
Slow like burning wet coal
Heat to bleed... bleed the heat
Veins reminded of dark centuries
Rhythm of a dead heart
Like ashes
Like ashes in the waves of an ocean
A double beat
Fast like burning dry wood
Cold to bleed... bleed the cold
Veins forgotten like dark centuries
Like ashes...

Black Universe

Blood that flows
The night that ends the suffering
A melody of the wind that dances with the dead
Beauty beyond the imagination of Gods
Trust the waves of entity
Touch the sun and light the century
Man aside of relief praying the blind who see
Lack of thought abundance of feelings
Love to burn sand into clear crystals
Scream the oceans happiness of the deepest waters