TheMotives-Inside

My search for a final sentence, ends where the sea sings melodies and my heart fails from the crushing weight of pressure. My fingers ache to touch the page, that one of my book which had all its pages torn out, and all my secrets bellowed away in the wind of the rain. I watch my dark twin as she sprints across the beach, as she touches my light face and searches for the words to say. It is true that I hadn't written the letters alone, she had always written with me. And in my death she remembers those final words and speaks them somberly, lifting me into the night sky, and renewing my life.

I'm feeling that unwound streak, keeping my aura pure, my limbs fluid and my mind awake. My fingers are molded from clay, and each strand of hair strays behind me in the wind. I want that calm, that silk stringed nest of joy. I want entirety with my island, and the thickness off each stroke. I want those projections of power, and ignited flame, that can course my veins and find heart and mend. I want to get lost, in a forest of twisted vines to become together with oneself, and learn to move forward.

I am an ungrateful person, full of the unknown. Guilty and suffocating, alone under the hard packed earth. I only think of cruelty, my imagination draws blood. No one seems to mind me, when I'm restless, tired, weak-minded or giving them a message. To hell with that, I'll stick to my usual. The loud scream of silence, the filler in the free space