through feathered pens inked with blood and a scarred soul of overflowing abysmal ideologies; there sits an obscured entity, scribbling metaphors and ironies in a crumpled paper of her chaos, seeking for something out of all nothings.
and here she u...
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unadulterated chaos of arduous specimens and of devil-may-cares with no sense of direction in life is one way to define our dissonant existence, however, scrape off every layer of our masked personas-strip us bare, denude us in your apertures, peel off our hard-earned shells-and youʼll see a frail state of pitiful vulnerability inside a troubled soul craving for a little taste of affection.
we are somehow perceived as the mislaid rejects of society, whose lives are wasted over rebellious adrenaline of escaping towards the unknown-reckless teenagers with overdramatic capabilities of showing how life sucks and with dispositions of futile attempts of cutting wrists, hanging on ceilings, drowning beneath the turbulent oceans, jumping off desolate buildings which was analogous to our own forlorn entities.
and somehow, the truth is what we speak, and yet, we are too inconsequential to be hearkened by adults with busy lives of their own.
us, juvenile children of the stygian street parading around the boulevard of mischief, who seeks refuge in chasing sunsets and instant foods straight out from some twenty-four hour running convenience store, who appreciates miniscule pieces of matter as how we would want to be appreciated, who-in some unutterable manner-fancies the idea of death but finds inadvertent justifications to remain alive and forages for purposes to keep on doing so.
we are hopeless cases, said an old woman who seemed to be living in some victorian era with that foolish conservative standards together with her other friends attending tea parties to brag the achievements of their pathetic lives.
and we got no achievements to be proud of, eh? so we are, indeed, hopeless cases. nonetheless, who is more hopeless between corseted waists and mannequin-like trophy wives, versus some troublemaker teenagers whose freedom lies within the threshold of their disappointed families and midnight drives?
huh, logic.
donʼt mind us, though. weʼre just some societal outcasts with reckless urges of trying to keep ourselves sane in this land of hypocritical fools.
