Literary escapades

Life is a house of cards Endless flights of stairs  Leading nowhere Luring with promises  Without any intention to keep them Loud and painful  And empty  Devoid of purpose or meaning Just a bad dream  You keep trying to wake up from  Every day unsuccessfully   

If from the darkness comes the light how much light can years of darkness create... Can there be light at all in the edge of the darkest darkness? Is it possible or it's just another carrot luring you to keep walking when the only sane choice is to officially give up... Light might be just a fiction, unattainable dream like everything else that never come to be. Why endless run along shabby hallways with turns and slippery surface underneath, with muffled voices ahead, with dying away sounds and ever reliving itself days. Light is just an illusion of hope  professing to be around one of these corners. It won't happen no matter how much you try to deceive yourself in order to carry on this charade called life. One day there comes a realization - beginning and end are connected in one giant circle that doesn't allow to step out, leave, or vanish. There's no direction, dreams are fiction, efforts futile. Time doesn't exist, it never did. I don't exist, it...

Those tiresome tears that burn from inside Unable to hide in treacherous corners Unconsciously wishing they could be a river With turbulent current to sweep all around... No days to remember No places to visit No names, no voices In obvious vacuum The world might as well be a different planet As foreign and empty as alien landscape With everything buried away from the glances

I am giving up on people. I'm giving up on trust and expectations.  I'm giving up on irrelevant days, things and events.  Time is precious. People unreliable like weather. In the end you are the only one you can truly trust.  That's all that counts.  No expectations - no disappointments,  no trust - no deception. As simple as that. Clean and detached. Attachments create dependency, disfunction, desperation and hopeless circle.  Freedom is everything. Without it life isn't worth living. Freedom, purpose, clarity of mind - all you need to move forward with dignity and self worth.  Emotional clutter aside. Distractive attachments aside. Past and present aside. They don't matter.   Future does. The only thing that does  even if you only catch a glimpse of it gliding on the edge of the horizon.

The answer is eluding me To question growing from within That carries  peace and sleep away  Like scraps and wreckage passing days  Newspapers sad and faded lines  Of life  Existed once and times  Gone by With only memories at bay  Surviving somewhere  deep inside Awaken to the sound of rain  From tortured dream To realize  You can't go back  and find oblivion in lost

Я жду ответа на вопрос  Который мхом во мне пророс И не дает покой и сон Найти приют  Со всех сторон Одни обрывки дней и лет И строки выцветших газет Из прежней жизни Что была  И память, что не отцвела  Пустынным в забытье цветком В забитых окнах молотком  Стучится дождь И сыплет град И нет туда пути Назад  нельзя вернуться и найти Потерянных минут забвение

На строку наползает строка друг за другом до потолка  Нету воздуха, солнца, дня я в потемках теряю меня Где-то небо и птицы и свет и счастливые сны в ответ  Заблудившись среди теней  тонут годы в потоке дней  В силуэтах упрямой зимы Исчезаем из памяти мы