ليه ليهمني اني كون بدل من اني صير؟
كل الأشياء بتعيش لتنتهي بلحن جديد
الفرق بين الحرية والخضوع تخيير
.أنا لي اخترت. أنا لي قبلت. أنا لي قلت
مشروع ليلى
~
Capture the moment. These lines are the broken streets to redemption. And, yes, none of this really matters. But let us play. Let us choose all the players and leave the void all alone on the bench. Ideas of sunrises and sunsets have gotten pretty sick of my redundant words by now. But that's okay.
All the colors are wrong. All the colors are wrong. And the details on your face are broken down equations. And though they're riddled with miscalculations and derived from unholy laws, they always add up to the right answer when you smile.
I never asked for any of this. This foreign reality is hiding the stagnant scent of childhood beneath their eyelids. And I see nothing but locally manufactured pain setting record-breaking corner-to-corner lap times in their eyes.
So drink up my empty gaze foolish little brother. Replenish my doubts with your leaking bloodstream. Let us drink to all the penknives that redefined our veins. Let us paint our tired dreams with these bloodshot eyes and those grayish-blue brushes we have stuck between our lashes. Drink up this baroque art foolish little brother before your post-impressionist heart crumbles to wheat grains.
Let there be light and many, many shadows - are you there?
The door opens.
The door opens like an old and rusted wound. And I want to close it because I'd rather keep my apologies in my heart, because my absence tastes better than my presence, because this planet doesn't feel like home.
Let it out. Tell them. Tell them that you hate it here. Tell them that you'd rather die. Tell them that you have the right to disappear forever. Tell me what happened. Tell me why all the colors are wrong. Tell me that things change when we really want them to.
The door closes.
The door closes and we both know that it's time to leave. Let go. Release the moment for the lines have already faded. I wish I could make you feel better. But I can't. Yet, I wonder if you're looking through the keyhole. I wonder why I find incoherence so appealing.
Blessed be the knight of infinite resignation. And blessed be the knight of faith.
Game over - soon.
~
سمي الشيطان بإسمو وسمي الفنان كذاب"
نصف الأشياء يلي بحسها بتجي من الخيال
وإذا بناقد نفسي كلنا منحتوي أعداد
".أنا لي كبرت. أنا لي قبلت. أنا لي قلت
مشروع ليلى