A piece of writing, rather a ramble.

No blog is complete without a ramble.


Artistry or just a moment of awakeness
Compiled into one single piece of specifics, thus being the square root of what started as a few days of he blues. Coursely ran itself into a precise rythym of something much deeper than just a few days of being down. Something that grew into a larger aspect of what really was happening in the mind. And yet still unknown like the meaning of earthly concepts a small drop of eluded happiness cleared the path to which a key hole took place.Key hole....its a small crevice in which an eye can envision the most of a scenerio with merely very little information to deliberate on. So much can be valued with the smallest sight of while dwells behind the surface. It takes a gifted one to unlock the measures of concrete and breath into the walls saturated despair.It always seems to happen at the least expected moment, where the sigh of thought is taken to the extremes, where analytical logic twists about so aimlessly that no sense can be made of the simplest of things. Right when all the world with everything in it crumbling and crashing against the forces of what ruins a beautiful woman. She then finds herself being found. Found and placed upon the mantel of truth where the veins that bled black resurface with truth and desire. Digging deep into her wounds to find out the source of the bleeding and why exactly she screams the gargling vibrations that richocet into the lives of her beloved.Just stopping to remember that there is still a large mess to untangle in her mind, piece by piece she pulls it out. Lying infront all conformed into the same ideas and origins, a piece is missing. The triggering piece of flesh is still inside causing the meaning of sadness.Its like the puzzle piece that was lost in the back of the closet and forgotten about, or a sock the washing machine magickally ate.None the less.....perfection comes in time. Perfections is a lost anf forgotten word that should have never been placed above her head in the first place. She tried....OH how she tried. UNderneath all the passing months its the scare of explosion that fears her the most. Explosion of mind, something in which she wishes she could ignore and forget, but lingers with its thumping migranes just to remind her of the stupidy she possessed.Long and eery waves the hand above her eyes as though a window was blanketed in paint.That window will open again.That voice will stop screaming.But a mess of confusion and questions desgin a fashionable little theartrical sonnet that sprawls its happy wings in letters.It will get better. Its just a moment where weakness pulled out the worst and left a mask of despair.