And Aubrey was her name . .

One. . two. . three. . how many do I need? T ick tock. .   tick tock, how many more hours before I can sleep?   Paper-scissors-stone, which among them do I need?               There is nothing more harder than to be awake and thinking, while the word is still and sleeping, and there is nothing more tragic than a tumult inside that will never cease. I'll probably laugh if the ocean will claim that he is the deepest blue. Ha-Ha! Come on Ocean Blue, there are still a lot of men that are bluer than you!              If you have made to step out in your room this morning, then you belong to the lucky ones as most of us can't even get up in our beds, can't even zone out in our heads. A very dark place   but there's a comforting sense that it is safer here than to dwell outside. The darkness, the void, and the space inside our head, it is a retreat place when the immediate reality is becoming too sick to handle.               The world outside is full of hool

            It lights up burning hot. Glowing with blood, orange, and tinge of yellow, from one side to the other. Slowly piercing at the deeper surface. Cauterizing and showing off the tainted flesh. Flaring between smokes and bones. I inhale sharply the stench of fervor, and the tang of wildness until they burn a sickness in my throat making me choke, and breathing in the smoke soon again.             Every burn and every sting builds inside until it's deepening into my stomach like boulders and catches fire on its emptiness causing me to choke again. It's a never ending cycle of pain until I'm marred and breaks into ashes.                           I am not like the others. I am burning in hell, the hell of myself. Sometimes it's strickening but more often it's thrilling. I had that kind of fire that kept my demons warm. Fire is uncool and relapses don't give comfort, yeah. But you know the rad thing about fire? It spreads incredibly and sometimes like

"An artist’s heart and a scholar’s mind."

"A wonderful mind triggers a supernova." -Six Word Story

"A falling star fell from your heart and landed in my eyes I screamed aloud, as it tore through them, and now it's left me blind" -Florence + Machine, Cosmic Love             It was a finer  mess of things. A pleasant arrangement of chaos. A movement of stars through the contrails and slowly without a rough to form their chronic constellations. And it caught my attention. How do they align themselves when they are light years away from each other? Who guides them in the midst of darkness in the cosmic space? Who decides when they should align and when not to? Does it hurt every time they fall? And in the first place, why do they shoot themselves from the sky when there is no one to catch them beneath?             I was once someone who dared to defy the gravity. Falling into something and expecting to rise. Loved someone the way astronomers love the stars, the way the meteors collide, and the way a nebula breaks from a big bang. Somehow, my body met

"This is gospel for the fallen ones Locked away in permanent slumber Assembling their philosophies From pieces of broken memories" -Brendon Urie, This is Gospel             Considered a misfit, a square peg in round hole. Criminal without a vindication, condemned by ignorance. If you're a holy person, or a worshiper of the conventional standard of goodness, stop reading now. The following words are just arrays of unholy oaths. As this for the renegades, a confession of apostasies. A  gospel for monsters.             "I stand often in the dark cracks, under the deepest pit, where centaurs, titans, and behemoth dwells. Yes, I do fight against them, but more often, I just play along with them."             When we were kids, our parents would always tell us not to be afraid of monsters, as they only exist on fictions. But as we grow older, we realize what is fiction and what is not. That heroes does not really exist in real life --no Hercules

"People label themselves with all sorts of adjectives. I can only pronounce myself as 'nauseatingly miserable beyond repair." -Franz Kafka       The deepest pit  is not the surface beneath the ground. The void is not darkest space, and the infernal region is not the most petrifying place. On a certain extent, these things subsist in a tremendous world inside of us. A formidable cosmos, an endless abyss. A breeding ground for monsters.       It is a place where breathing is different and every perspective is distorted. It is unfathomable and aloof which nothing can come except a chariot. That one day, it will roll up, will get bigger and bigger, that will fill the whole world at the moment it reaches you. You will fall into this enveloping medium like a child being submerged into the upholstery of a freight that drives through the storm and night, through the fire and brimstone. "I cannot make you understand. I cannot make anyone understand what is hap