Musings.

[romessence]

[musestongue]

"Cracked open Me, myself, but no 'I' Gone beyond the fault line A fracturing of ego No, 'I' can't be my friend And, no 'I' won't hold my hand Cracked open Me, myself, but no 'I' Left with tears and a lingering 'why?'"

[musestongue]

"Her eyes follow mirrors Chasing fleeting reflections of beauty And her camera roll is a tomb of negatives In which her beauty comes to die"

[musestongue]

Casting Stones.

"Spiritually castrate the hypocritical voyeur behind the screen. You judge me so harshly. Casting stones at your brethren. But your faith lies in false truths spat from the ass of man in the name of 'God'. 'He that is without sin among you, let him first cast a stone at her.' You cast stones out of deflection to avoid self-reflection. Lest you admit that sin resides in your ear."

[musestongue]

Home is a Man.

"I fall apart at the seams. The threads of my love ripped from me. Tattered heart from wear and tear. I stitch myself up in the midst of disrepair. The lonely girl with needles for bone. I breathe him in and it feels like home."

[musestongue]

In the House of Self-Undoing.

"As I'm locked inside my House of Self-Undoing. I read each room like a page in a book. It's a psychological horror written and distributed by the mind. The sharp whine of rumination comes from the kitchen. It pierces the back of my head. The pipes are busted, but the tears still flow through the decaying floorboards and rotted walls. 'But what about power?' Everything's sparking from years of crossed wires. And in the bathroom, there's a toilet that refuses to flush because it's so full of someone else's shit. All the mirrors are distorted, a product of neglect. The most intense chapter resides in the bedroom. There's a monster living under my bed that wears my face. It whispers the ways of self-sabotage to me like sweet lullabies in my sleep. Oh, and the attic? What an eerie place. Haunted by the presence of what once was, or rather, of whom once was. And vandalized by the words of another. I leave the cobwebs to decorate the halls as a comforting reminder of a connection lost. The doors, the curtains, and I? Indefinitely closed."

[terrorignitis]

Juansen Dizon, i am the architect of my own destruction