Sometimes. Somewhere. Maybe...
Hola compañeros!
It's at times never enough of what you apparently get out of the ecstasy that stems out of the little, negligible contraption everyday. It seems to somehow assassinate your momentary angst and disquiet for everything. Angst, a very deeply shallow word it is. As much tranquil it is to not be pestered about it, the more it perturbs you. Funny fellow it is.
It was only the other day when I was out there, in the balcony striving to puff some pollution-oriented oxygen, assuming that it would perhaps clean my system a bit, and supply some good amount of air to my benumbed brain cells after I thrived on persecuting them after the hideous chapter of Probability. Pleasant the air was. At that very moment, I was slapped hard with a tiny-winy pang of angst that I felt. Or was it anguish. Or torment. Or the fatigue and enervation of the constant torture on me by my books, after they gobbled up a fragment of my nice, pink brain which had virtually been converted into a rich anthracite that would set my brain on flames any time soon. As transient that angst was to enter inside of my mind, it went away with double the agility. It didn't perhaps give me the prospect to ruminate over its sudden showdown. I tried cogitating it, but in vain. I attempted to feel anxious about something, anything. To get that hunch back, and reason it. What was it about? Being made to work like a machine pulley? Or of being alone? Or of missing something, or someone? Or in the wake of wanting something? Okay, let's see, what do I lack at present. Support from parents; HELL NO. Friends? Naw! School? Maybe. A boyfriend, 'cause everyone around me has one? Blah, I'm happy single. Left unanswered to that strange, untimely question, I could hear my mother opening the gateway of her den. I knew she would come out looking for me, anxious if everything was fine, if I was scared of the Boards, or my future. Anxious! Anxious? I reflexively turned around to welcome Mum to stand by my side and chat a bit. Oh it's always so good to be with her! Her smile is the most bolstering encouragement for me. Bidding her farewell for the night, I retreated into my haven. Cleaning up the disarray of my books, I swiftly slid into my quilt. This thing had felt more of an anchorage than my entire room itself. And it struck me. Mum's smile. And I had forgotten the hide-'n-seek I was playing with my heart, or was it my brain? Perhaps the prerequisite trepidation was devouring me up. I'm still clueless. All I could clarify with myself was that my angst would be the greatest killer of the love inside me. It'll drown you, even if you wouldn't. The panic it'll create inside of you might strangle you down. I slept, peacefully. Sure of never having the need to panic, or chase an angst that's never meant to subsist.
See you fellas.
Till then, tener cuidado.
It's at times never enough of what you apparently get out of the ecstasy that stems out of the little, negligible contraption everyday. It seems to somehow assassinate your momentary angst and disquiet for everything. Angst, a very deeply shallow word it is. As much tranquil it is to not be pestered about it, the more it perturbs you. Funny fellow it is.
It was only the other day when I was out there, in the balcony striving to puff some pollution-oriented oxygen, assuming that it would perhaps clean my system a bit, and supply some good amount of air to my benumbed brain cells after I thrived on persecuting them after the hideous chapter of Probability. Pleasant the air was. At that very moment, I was slapped hard with a tiny-winy pang of angst that I felt. Or was it anguish. Or torment. Or the fatigue and enervation of the constant torture on me by my books, after they gobbled up a fragment of my nice, pink brain which had virtually been converted into a rich anthracite that would set my brain on flames any time soon. As transient that angst was to enter inside of my mind, it went away with double the agility. It didn't perhaps give me the prospect to ruminate over its sudden showdown. I tried cogitating it, but in vain. I attempted to feel anxious about something, anything. To get that hunch back, and reason it. What was it about? Being made to work like a machine pulley? Or of being alone? Or of missing something, or someone? Or in the wake of wanting something? Okay, let's see, what do I lack at present. Support from parents; HELL NO. Friends? Naw! School? Maybe. A boyfriend, 'cause everyone around me has one? Blah, I'm happy single. Left unanswered to that strange, untimely question, I could hear my mother opening the gateway of her den. I knew she would come out looking for me, anxious if everything was fine, if I was scared of the Boards, or my future. Anxious! Anxious? I reflexively turned around to welcome Mum to stand by my side and chat a bit. Oh it's always so good to be with her! Her smile is the most bolstering encouragement for me. Bidding her farewell for the night, I retreated into my haven. Cleaning up the disarray of my books, I swiftly slid into my quilt. This thing had felt more of an anchorage than my entire room itself. And it struck me. Mum's smile. And I had forgotten the hide-'n-seek I was playing with my heart, or was it my brain? Perhaps the prerequisite trepidation was devouring me up. I'm still clueless. All I could clarify with myself was that my angst would be the greatest killer of the love inside me. It'll drown you, even if you wouldn't. The panic it'll create inside of you might strangle you down. I slept, peacefully. Sure of never having the need to panic, or chase an angst that's never meant to subsist.
See you fellas.
Till then, tener cuidado.
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