A girl sits beneath a willow tree
alone, pondering the branches,
embracing the cracks of the bark
while the scenery around her
flutters away in the bitter wind.
The secluded still point she had
built for her own protection
peaks at the last drop of breath
and roles off of her bottom lip,
but does not completely vanish.
Her thoughts of then and now
pile up onto an abundance of polluted
picture books, stacked beneath
the leaves of the tree. However,
they too flutter away with the wind,
lost in the sea of empty desires
and leave her to ponder the tree;
Only the old willow tree remains.
Her eyes trace the the divide
between the willow and the nothingness,
and she could feel the weight of nothing
pressing down on the branches.
The abundance of absence tugging
each limb closer and closer to her feet
and yet closer to the edge of nothingness.
The willow is now her pondering home,
the place where her free-most self
is trapped under the convexity
of her dearly beloved willow tree.
She sits and sits and wonders the beyond
of nothingness, but feels no inclination
to leave her familiarity, her home.
The bark forms her armor, the grain
becomes her fortress, and the trunk
is her best friend, whom keeps her warm.
She sits and sits, and will continue to sit,
forever more, forever less.

Got my own spring,
Got my own reason to bloom.
People who said, waiting won't worth,
let me say it once again for them
I got my own reason to live
and own reason to die.
But still I will fail to say,
which is more important
waiting or trust?
Cause I lived some moments of nothingness too.

To break someone's heart is to break yourself
each and every time, with every heart
unconsciously becoming broken
in tiny bits and pieces of your former self
until you become your own stranger within
leaving behind those unacknowledged parts of yourself
forgotten as nothingness conquers all and dust seduces the wind
reigning into an empty void
that used to call your name.

suddenly the branch snaps and you
fall
fall
fall
but the ground never hits
it never hits
the vast nothingness envelops you
but who are you to complain
you know nothing about the dark
right?
you open your eyes
grass beneath your feet
it was a dream
all a dream
darkness only exists within
those who no longer live
and yet
yet
here you are
a dead man walking
the void lives on
you are one now
goodnight old friend
please stay by the door
i hope we never meet again

There once was a king who stayed in a castle

He loved story tellers and listened to them often but mostly at night. sometimes before bed they kept him awake. the story tellers always kept him wondering what happened next so he never stopped listening.

If a story didnt have a happy ending he would have the story teller banished to the dungeon never to be seen again, true or not its time to believe them. he didnt allow them to tell stories of faiding species, the hardships of surviving.. Here.. and how we are all doomed eventually. He only liked stories about books written by ancient deciples, Wounds being healed, lovers meeting from past lives and infinite impossibilities. Those stories with the least evidence most easy to believe.

Some days the king corrected his story tellers “no no no its like this. I’m the king and i know how it goes” he said, “anyway you like your highness” spoke the story teller. The king realized the story made no since so he sent the story teller to the dungeon and asked for a new teller. The dungeon door opened to reveal all the lost story tellers had become ghost on there way to take the king to the dungeon. He tried to ask his gaurds to protect him but they disappeared along with all of the tellers he had in his castle, and he was doomed to spend the rest of his days in the dungeon incased in a dark void of silence