I want to write till dawn falls
Until I don’t remember anything
About now or ever or whatever that is to come
I know there are no memories available
Of a future that is mine to make
But the past that is mine to keep
Promises only worse to follow
I rather not know any thing no more
I rather not breathe another ounce of oxygen
I rather just sleep to never wake once more
I rather just die tonight cause living for tomorrow is a waste
Tomorrow won’t be any better than before
Like none of the tomorrows ever been

They’re always just the same
A little worse if I’m lucky
Maybe something awful to happen, if I try hard
Never better
Never brighte
People hope and believe and pray
For anything, for all that will never come
It’s all just such a waste of effort
Life is a waste of time
Not worth the time wasted though
In the end you die and be forgotten
Why start and make something of it to begin with
It all ends the same
Everything you try
Goes the same way eventually
Follows the same path
Maybe that is destiny
That things in YOUR life, always go the way YOUR life is supposed to go
Fucked up in my case

Still I stay this messed up believer
Believing in better things to come
Believing in hope to bring relief
Believing in love to ever ease my heart
…But the way this heart’s been broken
It’s impossible to heal…
No one should feel obliged to even try

Let’s just say you do feel that way
Let’s just consider a situation where someone comes along
That wants to make me happy and alive
Someone who is convinced he wants to love me and fill me with all the joy and love in the world
…He will find out soon enough
That it simply takes too much…
Too much time, too much effort, too much attention, too much understanding, too much care, too much commitment, too much endless interest, too much patience, too much love, too much light, too much happiness, too much of everything that has ever been considered to belong to the category of ‘good’

You see, I have this enormous black hole, in the place where average people carry their heart.
I know, the heart is nothing but a muscle, which grows more strong and fit, if you train it.
But we’re all human right ?
Human’s have everything in pairs:
Two eyes
Two nostrels
Two ears
Two lips
Two cheeks
Two hands
Two arms
Two lungs
Two legs
Two feet
Two nipples
Two buttcheeks
Two pieces of reproductions devices (men: testicles, women: overies)
Two brainhalfs

So how come we only have one (physical) heart ?
Don’t get me wrong, I’m not getting all psych right now.. and I know that ‘matters of the heart’ ..it’s just a metaphore because emotion doesn’t actually occur in the heart. We may feel it in our thorax area, some only feel it in their abdomen. In reality it’s just electricity in the nerve system.

But we call it the heart, for some reason right ?
Let’s just pretend for a second, that we actually have two hearts…
One physical, pumping around our blood, supplying our body with what it needs to stay vital, keeping us alive.
And one heart, on a whole other level. Not mental or emotional even. I don’t even care to call it metafysical, because that has a philosopical nasty ring to it. No, I mean something waaay beyond that.
A second heart, I think we all have another heart, on a level of love. Love being then this universal source. A source, not just supernatural, but outernatural. Like a god almost. But nothing like a god at the same time. Because I’m not talking about a person or a creature or anything that has form or shape or extension. I’m talking about something way more elusive and lucid. Something way more abstract and intangible. Something not even divine or superb, but everything more than that. Something so unimaginable, yet so desirable. Something so exciting, yet so nerve rackingly calming. Something so fulfilling, you get confused because as a human being you just don’t understand why you’re not seeking for fulfilment anylonger. Something so overwhelming, it covers and controls every governing system you ever had or created in order to keep yourself together. Yet it has you falling apart. Because as a human being, you’re not built to handle this.
Self-sabotage, self-inflicted injury, self-mutilation even.

At least, that is the typical way of dealing with these things or situations, for me. Would’nt know how to any other way. Maybe that’s my ultimale goal, maybe I have a goal in life after all.
Learning, or teaching myself.. to deal, cope or handle with.. life (?) and all that comes with it? Which should be nothing but love. But who wants to live in Utopia?

What’s the good worth, without the bad ?
Could we distinguish the colors of light if there was no darkness for it to step out off ?
Could we recognise sound if there was never silence ?
I think we would though. I think every living person has a certain sense of what’s good and great and perfect and beautiful and precious and lovely even if we’ve never had any sensory experience of it, as a sort of ‘a priori’ invested knowledge implanted in our souls to begin our lifes with.
Why do I think that? What has me so convinced?

How come we know the concept of ‘peace’ while the world is in war every day ever since human race can begin to remember it’s own name ?

How come even the most morbid souls know at least some clinical description of the meaning of love ?

How come we manage to conceptualize the meaning of an ‘utopia’ when there is no perfection ever realized in this world ?

How could there every exist such knowledge (or ‘faith’, for the pessimists and sceptists among us) if there wasn’t just the slightest fraction of useful information to support any of such conceptual ideas..?

Even the most extravagant, extraordinary, extreme and irrealistic fantasy or dream, is only constructed with the tools of our sensory perception. If we dream, we dream in shapes and colors, which we know… from within, from before.
We dream about what we know, they say. A random cocktail of deep hidden beliefs and fears and hopes or desires even, mixed together into a story, or even just a documentary of flashing images that make no sense but agressively pound their footsteps in our mental image anyhow.
But I bet baby’s dream too.. Maybe they don’t remember their dreams, they’re probably not fit to reproduce a sensible story out of them afterwards at any time of their lifes…
But I’m sure baby’s dream. And I don’t just refer to baby’s, at this point. I’m actually talking about fetuses. Baby’s that still live in the womb of an pregnant woman, full of big expectations, so to speak. I don’t really know if there has been any research regarding this specific question (and if not, I really think there should be, by now), but I think that any human being, when developed a full use of the brain capacity, it would be able to dream, right?
I mean, an unborn baby can hear it’s surroundings. The impressions it gains while being breed, are supposed to be carried along with the child among its life. So I bet there is a mental space, in that tiny brain, that has already (or at least practices perhaps) some premature mental equivalent of processing those (probably mostly auditive) impressions, into dreams..
So let’s just assume that is true. Unborn infants experience dreams too.. Then what do they really dream about? Their eyes are still closed, they don’t have any visuals. They just have sounds. Some basic emotions maybe? It’s true that dreams don’t always occur in a visual content. Sometimes we just dream a feeling, a sensation. If they are ugly and fearful, we call them night terrors. (not nightmares.. nightmares are just bad dreams). Night terrors.. we all have them, you dream something so awful, you won’t even know how to remember what it looked like. Like post-traumatic stress syndrome after a traumatic event. You know it happened, you know EVERY detail about it!! …only not in words, or images, even the most creative examples or most vivid metaphors don’t begin to allow to explain exactly HOW it felt or WHAT it was like.
But those can only exist if a person has at least the slightest amount of misery in experience available. Presuming an unborn baby has no such thing, I allow myself to assume that unborn baby’s have dreams, not night terrors.

Coming back to where I started with, how is it that we know about things that not really exist? Such as peace and perfection. And what do unborn baby’s dream about, if they have no visual content whatsoever to construct a dream in display?

There must be, in my imagination at least, a place where these things develop and occur. A place beyond physicalities, broken free of scientific borders. I believe it is the second heart.
A nature of every human, that resides among them, further and deeper than the senses could ever explain. A second heart, where love lives and rules and flows freely, and willingly. Yet trapped like a secret potion in a vessel. The vessel of eternal youth, perhaps…