The innocent

A few days passed and everyone was still mourning. When somebody dies young, they’re a good person. Their sins are forgotten and people who barely knew speak good of them. But this girl knew him, at least tiny bits of him. As the interviewers observed, they could see a faint smile in her. A smile for the good times and for the bad.

Some people are just too stubborn. They won’t change their views. Without logic, he would argue hoping some time soon enough it would resolve. It never worked this way. He was just a grown up kid in a man’s world. In time, friends turned to family and family turned to foe. Change was inevitable and hard to handle. Things moved to quickly. Good things were not valued and bad thoughts turned permanent. His world was summoned upon blight. His heart was dying. He gave it all but the world was too busy to notice. It only came in observation when he hurt himself mercilessly. One cannot kill himself by holding their breath but there are other ways, much certain and quicker.

Mental illness is an issue less discussed. It’s not about electric chairs or being locked in a cell on your pyjamas. People need motivation and support. It is often the things we cannot change that hurts the most. It’s better to break a bone than to rot our thoughts. A beautiful mind doesn’t take much time to fill with filth. To kill a person is easy if you take away what he loves. For him and for her.

Someday I’ll set myself free and I’ll be known as the man who sold the world. This mind is brilliant. It thinks in its sleep. It can bring bits from around the globe together and create his own world. He can travel in time and take bullets in place of John Lennon. He can walk pass the Anfiield Stadium and reach New York. The planet being hoisted on a lever while cities float on big rocks connected by numerous freeways. His world is to big for anyone to see. Or maybe it’s just a purple crystal ball he can see on his dreams that shows it all.

What the aroma is like, I could possibly tell. It makes me need a guitar and crave for music. I’m a kind of person who can sense a tune from reading a book like many musicians before me. It’s dark art act vivid. It doesn’t matter who you pray cause there is only one divine. Who understand me best is someone else. As for now, the grass is green on the other side and it’s time I break through. If I do not live to see another day, it’s all part of the plan and it’s my sacrifice.


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