Reverberating Memory

The taste of intention behind those soft lips. Friction between the two stubborn lovers causing a prolonged hatred. The cessation of all tension through locked eyes that transform to locked lips. A paradox; love and hate in the same being. Right and wrong. There will be time to decide which is worth  more. Numbness derived from complete bliss rushing through the mouth, to the heart, to the mind. A stained glass window glistening from a light rain encompassed with rays from the sun. Painful and broken, but still beautiful. Forgiveness is a monumental towards mending, but in what does it lead? Love is an amusing and obscure concept. It takes many forms and has many degrees. To be in love, the end must be completed before there can be another. There can be no question if it was or is real. To be in love can be detrimental in cases, but it can also be one of the best things experienced.

Trying to decide: boots or house slippers, 

Peak

It's a Little Bit Funny

Pulling me down like a bobber being yanked by a hungry fish. We are all fish in this pond. Some are big; some are small. Some follow groups; others don't. Not to be cliché, I just believe there is something more to this common metaphor. Have you ever wanted to give up a whole past? The honest answer is don't. Things that happen in the murky waters of life are motions of the tide, and they will pass. Good or bad, a moment only happens in the present.  When the water is calm, everything settles to the bottom. We settle. Mosquitos fester in stagnant masses. Sucking life through blood. It will drain you and make you weak. 

Gone fishin',

Peak

The Journey is the Beginning is the End.

To make this as abrupt as possible, I'm going to make this passage direct. Without forming words through a stream of consciousness, phrasing  will become systematic and chronological. If I were to die tonight or in the morning,  I just want to make an impact on you; the reader. Maybe not even my readers here but even the people that read me in society. I am so much more than what they see. Sometimes, this makes me feel like I don't belong. I am different, but maybe, I just want to be the difference. Can you see the contrast; the irony in which I live? I just wish that one day someone will see me as what I've been through (no matter how minuscule it may seem) instead of what they've heard of me. I want to be heard. I want to be be felt before I leave here, and no one knows when this will be their own last day. I've come to acceptance with this. It's okay only because I know that I have made an impact on a few lives as they have me. Society molds us, but it only happens when we are able to bend. If we break, depression begins. Eventually, you are at least emotionally dead in the persistence of this issue. You have to mold to the events that happen to you, or you will break. Look at all of the good arts. Each piece is sculpted by it's creator.  There is a reason we are who we are and who we become. 

As simply as possible,

Peak

A Wine-O in a Glass Menagerie

As long as you're alive, every end is a new beginning. It has taken quite a few experiences to fully believe in this simple string of words. When you feel this alone for so long, it's hard to believe you're thriving in society. Questions come and go like light on a chandelier that has been struck. Answers come slower than a cold and stalling engine. Words are hard to express, and things begin to crumble before your very eyes. The reliance on depressants slows this decay, but when sober, things seem to fall faster. In or out of place, you'll never know. When the feelings come, don't forget the changes. Don't forget the things that have made you who you are. As you're searching, find a temporary guide that has the ability to mold and create the visions held. Feel the things that bring sensational thoughts, and make those numb and hurtful disappear. People tell me to not be obsessive over the small things, but isn't life full of small moments? Each one brings wisdom and concentrates the impact of a whole. Maybe I'm insane; maybe life just isn't what I always dreamed. 

All for the best,

Peak

Romance in a Sense

I would like to say simply that this is concerning the feelings of a lost friendship. You thought you were a friend to me. Maybe you were. Maybe that's what we needed then, but it seems more and more further from the truth as time surpasses us; what we used to mean to each other. We used to be so much more, and you have formed an oblivion to the intentions that are pervading to me more than simply tangible misguided embracements. The dope of a new found love is perfuse to my nostrils as I am alone; sheltered by the devices I have built as crutches. As life beats me down, you vanish. Disparate. Like a freshly made chemical burning in an Erlenmeyer flask under a newly sparked Bunsen burner. I am that flask being burned by this new passion, and you, the chemical boil near me, and I make you evaporate because of the heat; the discomfort of being close to me. There are so many parallels in the formation of this hypothetical model. You'll never see this or probably even care to hear it, but I hope you feel it.

Until we meet again,
Peak