WaffleGamer

the bittersweet cacophony in the background noise, a voluminous rhythm mirroring the beating of our hearts, the sand slowly shifting down the hourglass, like the stars to fade before the break of day, or as the cool summer breeze silenced beneath the sun, wondrous yet swiftly fleeting, a crashing wave breaking for but a moment upon the shores of time we count the passing seconds on twilight screens and wristwatches, tiny grains to slip past the cracks of this fragile existence, counting time like playing cards, where every breath itself becomes a gamble, we catalog moments and memories, on temporary screens with vibrant color, ignoring the c

the painted mask reflected in the mirror, chipped paint and battle scars, masking the alabaster of its surface, Time has weathered the pretty image, that used to display so proudly hiding beneath the surface, the wizened visage of a fool, a living caution sign of life's cruelty, a voice that speaks not of superiority, but common ground and equal footing never having stood on higher ground, for the ground beneath, was too unstable for the standing, never looking down, yet always forward the past ever behind them, the future too far ahead to see, yet somewhere in the middle, found the strength to carry on, red marks on wrists not lingering m

Often i stay up just to wonder, not of crystal skies and frosted glass, just the little insecurities, and all the loves that did not last Its hard to face the future, when I'm still running from the past, it seems that time is still my master, my heart still beating, dying fast you see my mask, this painted picture, a muttered voice to speak the lies, somewhere between emotional and emotionless, the panicked screams and tired cries you see the walls I've built around me, pretty paint adorned with jewels, not the blood beneath the surface, paint from fingers lacking tools

Boiling blood, mirrored echo, of a broken heart, what little light blind eyes may see, they took from me, from a tattered book, they tore the core, removed the spine, leaving only the mangled pages, whenever the stars shine again, i hope ill see you there, till then, i am but a shadow of what once was, a broken specter of what could be

Courage is the capacity to overcome fear. In the presence of fear, heroes may be born. In the presence of pain, there are no heroes. When pain and fear become one and the same, there is no such thing as a hero. All of us submit to such pressure. Sanity of the mind, becomes unanimous with comfort at the end of the day. Take that from a man and he would sell the whole world, if only to save himself. Depression is born of discomfort, suicide of grief, but a man who knows all these things as the same, resembles more a ravenous beast, than a man at all. There lies the true treachery of it all. That all things that cripple us, all our true enemies,

Art exists in the place where technique and madness meet. At the corner pub of peace and chaos, where passion and frustration are at its strongest. ~ Jordan Laizure

Blackened earth a memory, Striving petals in the ash, Stark white in the light

Cutting, Caustic, Cold Nipping at flesh, Biting bones Tear stained cheeks, Tired eyes

the silver toned glass, glazed with steam and dust, this bitter illusion i call a life, plays its shadowed reflection before me, the sinking torment of humanity, laid bare before my eyes, and how this reflection haunts me, eyes glassed over and empty, gazing out from the cracks, chalky skin and scraggly hair, the bitter visage of a dead man, and no where to go, the sinking feeling of my chest, the drowning torment of my heart, the cacophonous laughter of its beating, a lonely joke, and i ask this shallow reflection, am i not the loneliest of all?

The course of our entire lives, can be summed up in seconds, a brief minute upon the clock, in the end its but a number, either plastered on television, or viewed only by the few souls, who knew you best Life is fleeting, yet those fleeting moments, are the ones we hold so dear, that time your eyes met and you both smiled, or maybe something seemingly insignificant, in all honesty i could spend hours, summarizing each tender moment, but that's not truly important, you know them when they happen In those fleeting moments, subtracting a busy schedule, often we find those moments, in the seconds that pass us by, the ticking second hand, that w