Ctrl+Z. Ctrl+Me.

"Just living is not enough", said the butterfly, "one must have sunshine, freedom, and a little flower."
— Hans Christian Andersen.

Chasing, always chasing dreams.

Bubble: A safe space where people that don't like to be confronted with the consequences of their actions live. Often known as the perfect environment for those that are too immature to assume responsibility for their lack of realistic perception, and instead focus their energy in maintaining an image of perfection to the outside world, while hiding their real thoughts, quite usually very sadistic and selfish. Bubbles can easily blast when a small portion of truth or justified anger hits one, so people that live inside a bubble are particularly sensitive to those that tell them things they can't comprehend, even, and in particular, when such things are correlated with their immoral social behavior. And as people that live inside a bubble need the bubble as much as they fear the outside world, they often blend unrelated words with their own nonsense to keep the danger of having a bubble exploded far from sight. This includes being an hypocrite when calling one ungrateful, offending someone while calling such individual aggressive, and using negative depreciation with arguments that fit their agenda of keeping themselves within ignorance while bringing others further to that paradox. People that live in the bubble believe anything they hear but always assume that their beliefs are independent, as the bubble stops them from seeing further and admitting something they can't see or accept. Therefore, until the moment in which everyone will be happy to have a microchip attached to their brain and google glasses stopping them from seeing the world as it is, the bubble will be known as a transitory stage, between an unempathetic dumbness and being a brainless humanoid vegetal on two legs.

— Robin Sacredfire.


Connect. Disconnect. Reconnect.

Everyone yearns for a change.

A change could be anything.
It could be any word taken off the dictionary and there's that. 

A change that an individual decides to create on their own.

It could most probably be any self-perceived sense of accomplishment that an individual wants to achieve. However, whatever reason the change is for—the mere rationale behind it, or even the point in having the rationale behind it, and much less the feelings behind change—yet again is always questionable.

Nobody changes to take the fall for another; it was always a wonder why it was always so difficult to accept change. That was before the huge leap happened. More than a standstill of retrospection, it didn't require change for anybody to change at all. Nobody jumped to that conclusion, everyone just diverted the thoughts of death because of the sheer pleasure in finding distractions.


Patience, test my patience.
If I made it too hard for you maybe you should've changed it.


Time and tide waits for no man,
or basically we have no control over it.

My patience never ran out.
But I got impatient with myself.

I almost lost control.
I almost lost myself.

Whatever doesn't kills you make you stronger,
or it essentially does kill you.


Say it, you should say it,
'Cause I'd say I was wrong just to make it fill all the spaces.


A change in surrounding.
Away from dreadful impounding.
A change in profession.
 Distant from tragic repression.
A change in habit.
Haggle over dreams for a bit.
A change in perspective.
 Aspire to be more introspective.
A change in self.
Stand up and get off the shelf.
 A change in recreation.
Attempt to overcome hesitation.
A change in mentality.
Accept the existent brutality.
A change in aim.
There was clearly no one else to blame.


Waiting, always waiting.
If I gave you control would you say that we could've saved it?


We all have our personal poison
and its respective antidote.

Seldom are we able to fix ourselves.
Hence, the rise of an addiction.

Not all addictions are wrongful,
but the damages done come close.

It is a lie to say we're not addicts.
Even the simplest of simpletons has an addiction.

We see children get addicted to their mobile devices,
provided to them by seemingly loving parents,
who are too busy on their own mobile devices,
addicted to the entertainment it  accommodates.

We see teenagers and youths get addicted to smoking,
misguided learning from peers or family,
who were derailed from the panoramic view of it,
addicted to the misconceptualised ignorance of its risks.

We see adults get addicted to human interactions,
associating it to the affinity with other humans,
who are almost-negligible for any correspondence,
addicted to the false sense of belonging or control.

I see myself addicted to the thoughts of death,
identifying it with my interest in existential nihilism,
combining it with my melancholic nature of cynical silliness,
addicted to the rumination of an ending which has barely begun.


I hope you find a way to be yourself someday.


As much as I would like to live in self-denial all my life, my overcompensation from the guilt of even being in denial in the first place is destructive and almost-fatal. While it is not illegal to think of death, it is unlawful to attempt a single shot at death. 

For purposes of explanation and being the self-acclaimed poetic geek I always will be, I am expressing this chain of thoughts, and perhaps clearing up any form of unintended misunderstanding, through the upcoming paragraphs of non-verbal rhetoric.


In weakness or in strength, Change can be amazing.


 The thoughts of death have never left me. Although there is a tendency for inadvertent mellow moods, the thoughts of death don't quite scare me. The previous statement remains true despite the unsurprising fact that I cry and grieve in any ordinary situation of loss, perhaps explaining the many items I have been unknowingly hoarding. The truth is, this is too much of a flipping politically correct series of statements to make.

 Death is too easy. It is not a thought that just magically blooms in the mind like a sunflower with an aromatic scent. On the contrary, it sneaks in with the wind and lands its spores thoughtlessly into the soiled mind and sprouts as creepers that grow in the dark with its long vines and hardens with tenacity over the years. Death is a spore containing the notion of its existence from the first point of contact with life, and it germinates without the need for gentle tendering and dedicated gardening.

 Death is too easy. Simply because death already exists to me. I cry at funerals because I have feelings. I do get numb to them eventually, but I still reminisce the fond memories and the missed opportunities that could have potentially been prospects of what—a life of longevity and endless pain? Realistically, I don't require any of the money that was willed to me nor provided upon me as a reward for my presence in that loved one's life. The sum of money holds the imprints of an entire lifetime of savings, hard work, and the sole essence of being alive. Holding that hurts the inside because we would much rather have our life than money. But, ideally, I require the enabling of my ruthlessly obstinate mind in entertaining the concepts of death.

Death is too easy. It is not death that scares me—much rather, it is the idea of how easy death ends anything; it is the idea of how easily the thought of death arises at any prospective point of failure. Human beings are undeniably afraid of failure and abandonment, and all other factors from Abraham Maslow's theory on the Hierarchy of Needs. It is indisputable that death has become an easy way out for many. Think about it, why give a murderer an immediate death sentence when he could be sitting in prison suffering from the torture of other menacing peers for a lifetime, or even for forty years and then coming back out to society and continue to experience the torment of being unable to blend in with society anymore.

Death is too easy. I have thoughts about death a lot. I am in contemplation, according to James Prochaska's Transtheoretical Model of Change. The thoughts of death are already beyond the mere plantation, it has grown into a field that is almost beyond damage control. But then again, what is there to change, or even control? What is there to change when death is too easy. We want to be challenged everyday, to be given some purpose in life, to offer ourselves some masochistic explanation of meaningful living, and the self-convincing that death is taking everything away from life. We forget that it is all our personal choice that we prefer to shrug responsibility from.

In conclusion, death is too easy because the suffering is more enjoyable and purposeful. If death was so difficult and life was too easy, where would the purpose in living be? We would be better off dead, huh!


So I pray for the best, I pray for the best for you.


Life in detail.
A depiction of fiction.
Ready to sail.
A vacation of devastation.
Escape the fairytale.
A narration of temptation.
Mind set to derail.
An illustration of hesitation.
Think twice to inhale.
An inspiration of personification.
Bubble up a veil.
An anticipation of reformation.


I wish you could be honest.


 I wouldn't lie.
I was naive, and hopeful, and lost.
I wouldn't lie.
I still am.



Why'd you stick around, why'd you stay with me?
Why'd you fake it?

Hesitation is killing me too.
But I couldn't save it, I couldn't save it.


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