The Saints Of Mibba

When you were young you thought a minute was so long.
But as you grow up, you just realize you're wrong.
And now that all you see are the bad events you've spent,
now you wonder where all the good times went.

The moonlight made it's way into my room. Sewing through the window like a silver thread stitched into a red piece of leather. But it was more of a tranquil pitchfork red cloth of crystalline white light slicing itself into this cave I call a bedroom.

I've been up all night, listening to Green Day and MCR songs and writing poetry. Such beauty is the feathers of ebony that adorn the sky and hail among the avians that reign the night.

Night has always been the best time for me to think up things for my literature. The night hides mystery even in the full veiled aura of silver moonlight that drapes over it.

It unlocks the gold and silver figures unadorned by this dawning light when day finds a contour in the sky where it can stretch to expand. I find it irritating when it cracks the peaceful oblivion of sleep.

Only it is night when I can find the enchanted revealations of a figure's past from every veiling truth the daylight conceals. Instead, the night finds a Way to search for the contours the day can't reveal. All I actually see during the dawning of the morning glow is black and white.

It's the night where I find the once bleak and shattered colors full of enery and skeptical wisdom to color the world.

I'd want to find a new purpose, but something made me hesitant in doing so.

Maybe a vexation is making me shatter. Or a contrition that resides my anger to relinquish in conceited sorrow is making my heart crumble. Will I try to forget this night? Or will I try and move on in doing so like the same as everyone else?

Maybe I was meant for only the pencil and paper. Drawing and writing have always been my strengths. But I never had a chance in my life to show it.

The blood of my shattered past gains the remains of it's distance to glory to where the knife of my life stands and where I lay imprisoned in my heart. Being stabbed by fear and trapped in oblivion, this pain was love long ago.

Today and forever, it’s hatred. Hatred that binds the contritional opposite of heraldry and suffocates my soul into blasphemy's tempation and woes.

Forgetting paradise…And leaving an abacus of uncomputed and inevitable problems yet to be resolved.

Forgetting how to get it…And condemning a kaleidoscope of picturesque visions of leaping flames onto my tattered heart.

Forgetting my purpose…Infracting from the statueesque ability to roam free and eloquently succumb waterproof alleges.

And are in the clutches of slavery, as I desire for revenge. Vengeance to claim my true monument on life.

Shall I ever escape pain’s shackles?

Shall I ever run free?

Shall I ever become my reflection?

Probably when my life ends…so far away. Meanwhile, tolerance has disappeared. Has it even to run aWay from what I was made to become? Won't it ever realize who experiences sweet dreams? And it’s I who receives a bitter nightmare…reality.

Is this the reason loneliness is my property? Shall the path of rapture even know me? What is to ostracize from? It has already captured me.

Would you even care if I foolishly suffer in a riddle, wrapped around damnation’s arms?Such pity who wouldn’t be able to understand…for only their corpses remain. Corpses of where the darkness lies as my only friend, and the anatomies of sadistic, cold eyes furrow flaxen metaphysical weakening.

Damnation lies upon my lifetime. That's why my only stand in life makes a fall for everyone else's. Thank you for leaving me with agony, with this fury in my cranberry, crimson blood…stuck with these vexations of reality.

I hate school. I hate school for ruining my life. Each time I go there, I always go through life there like living meant dying for a thousand years.

There hasn't been a day there where I was ever happy. It's like a routine each day. And each day goes long and drowsy and it feels like each second is a thousand years, not worth dying for a single cause or reason that being different meant.

No one's ever been there for me. All I have for friends are imagination and emotional ideals. I stay a solemn deity awaking the emotions I wish to sense yet everything I dawn a wish never liberates.

It's like I'm somehow cursed because everyone who has ever met me hates me. I could be meant for the avians, soaring with the Swallows and cracking the day with the Blood Sparrows. I'd rather be with who I could understand than be known as a witch to many ignorant mortals.

Even the two people in my life who should know me better than anyone else on this earth have no sincere care for my feelings.

The two people whose genes I was born from. Who cradled me in their arms when I couldn't walk. Who were always there for me. Who would always see me better than what others find in me.

Who would always dry my tears when I get heartaches and pains.
Who were my only guiders in the map of life.
But...they never actually did love me.

They only thought I was just a kid in their life. But they couldn't think of me anything better than just that. They make life a nightmare for me, just like what my hellmates treat me as.

I'm always laughed at for being different. I'm always shunned by the fountain of happiness. I've been banned to drink from the waters of the true immortal fires of joy and no troubles creeping under the bed of your spine.

All that would just end up a dream.

Living in my world is like a nightmare that when you turn off the lights, it appears as only an illusion. But it is only the next minute you seek to realize that that ideal is far from being a reality and will forever remain a distant fantasy from the internal portal of your mind.

I always plead to the skies for an answer why my life had to come into this. But of course, pleading to gray scaled clouds leads to no answer, does it? Even the jacaranda hues and the copper exaltations of starlings never hug the furor of delight, or the remorse of inquity. The carcass of my stained, solitary disadvantages soak my rainbows into gasoline.

I become carcinogenic. Lachrymose, how beautiful of a word commenced by the pigment saturation of ivory, and tainted venom.

I never could see the limelight hidden under the black papers of my life. My life's one big sow's ear. But in this sow ear, you could never find a silk purse.

It always feels like each day comes the glaicier cold rain. The sun never shines and I'm always trapped at the night. I try to run away from the house of nightmares. But each place I shadow myself behind, the nightmares taunt me and it all reminds me of the horror that I came from.

Even when I click out the lights I drift into nightmares and each day I wake up to, they become not only nightmares. They become reality.

Always thinking there's a better life than this...I'd just be living in a dream for all my life thinking of it that way.

What's life worth living for if you can't even enjoy it? It's never been better. There has never been a single day when I ever smiled. Or felt happy.

I only confide my happiness in one fantasy. It's a place where I share the same temperamental feelings with other people. Other people who got scarred by the hard toils of life. People who mourn to squeeze out the hidden happiness of the book of life.

People who got stabbed by the green hand of a dreaded life and from the sword of the world's happiness, laughing and scoffing of the sad dreads and tragedies that are roaming around the wind circulating the earth.

It's a place where broken people go after they die. Where all their pain and misery fall into a place where they can share it to everyone who has felt it and won't be afraid to expose their life stories.

I call it, “The Dark Flame Carnivale.”

It's a vision of my world with everyone resembling me in different bodies and each of them shared a dark story related to something that happened to my life. I don't feel alone when I think of them. I feel like I'm part of the Carnivale, I feel like I'm one with them.

I feel like I'm family with them.

Bleeding inside,
I feel like it's too much than to just hide
But with your inspiring past lessons confiding within the teachings you pass on
I realize I'm not alone...

It's not fair how life's been to me. People think I just exist for their pride and to put shame on me. But what they think of me is far from what is underneath the blanket of skin they see.

They really have to see what is me before they judge and objectify me. But that's their problem. They make up their minds about me in just one glance. It's unfair to just be looked at then immediately avoided.

Each day I walk alone and staring down a lonely and empty street. I look at the world as my blank canvas. I think there could be more than just this life of staring at everything in a view with only my shadow and wisdom to guide me.

I know for a fact that the line that divides me from my destiny could be very close to being broken. But there's no other chance I can take. No one can accept me for who I am, no one would want to believe me. I'll forever be leaving myself alone to sleep. I'll forever be staring at the world going great without me. I'll forever be my only best friend. And I can never be afraid to admit it.

As I stare at the world drifting into different paths, I only take the road of loneliness. I drift into another world while everyone else is having fun in the more optimistic side of the field.

I stay on the darker, clouded side of the pasture. Everyone else stays on the greener, fresher and brighter side of the world as I remain sanguine, yet trapped in an incubus of where the schizophrenia of a ringing holocaust melts mirrors, and abnegates the aid of a saint to mend back sanity.

I dream of me and a lonely road, choosing which can make me happier and can save me from this sad harm and torture. I look at them in an Eagle's vision, choosing what road to take. Mutiny, self-centered desire for revenge and fear of man are what make this satirical path of my life unrecovered.

Where I can't stay lonely and empty. Where nothing feels like the world sleeps when I rise. I can't walk these paths alone forever, can I?