random pieces

H ow I aspire to be young again running in spree with on only glee in this crimson stone. Living without any fear in the world unaware and carefree of the trivialities that woes this crimson stone. And as you grow older, you become disenchanted as the silhouettes of the world becomes to vanish. The ones that did not burden you now becomes the stinging pain that keeps pushing through the innocent grey sparks and the crimson bleeding stone soon becomes heavy to bare affected by all hurt by all seeing all

Like long strokes of carving that stands through time though it can be covered, refurbished, but the deep markings never fade. It may be soothed and varnished but the pain resides, the memory of how it was deeply etched leaves the most painful brand. Words can be spoken or written, just a mere combination of letters and symbols but it has proven to be the mightiest weapon for a blade instantly kills But words can either be an elixir that soothes or a poison that lingers and permeates beneath. Words you may choose to ignore, Words you may let pass by But the thing with words is that its most painful slashes and thrashes are those that come from ones you hold dear. For it not only lingers, But it is forever etched in your heart in your mind, though you may try to forget but like all brandings and markings all those could never go by A broken heart, not by slashes but by lances that stake through that no amount of healing may fix, that even with time that pain remains the most pa...