Another flower

    Yes. The moment of a dark silence. The street. It's lovely when there aren't any cars. No sound. And the square when there aren't any passers by. It's empty. Butterflies. They don't move wings. They just glide. No sound. What color is a butterfly's blood? Is it transparent? Like air?
    Only when it's dark and quiet, the line between beauty and monstrousness fades. The line between truth and lie. Love and hate. It also fades. Everything is the view through a window. Blue curtains always blocks it. Always at the same time. 
    But the sound rushes in. And it won't quit. Everything seems weird. There's no one around. Who's making that noise? The switch is pulled. There's no one caring anymore. 
    They exist in lies that were created. They want to be somewhere, but they aren't there. They are stuck. They are forsaken. They exist in memories and dreams that aren't meant to be. There is a kind of people in this world. Somnambulists who wouldn't be. They wait for a moment of relief. A moment when everything is blocked by curtains of the color blue.
    And all of this is just another flower on the grave of an unknown absurd.

Give me a topic

Give me a topic. Give something. Something that would occupy my mind at this moment.
It's empty. I'm empty. It's not who I am. It's weird. I'm weird. Or not. We all are weird, or normal....in a very difficult way. Or an easy one.
World is difficult and unexpected. Easy and predictable. I don't know which one is mine. I despise this feeling. Not knowing, feeling empty, not feeling anything at all.
It's opposite of me. I'm loosing it for no reason. I don't have control anymore.
I got lost in my own world. I feel like a stranger. Like an outsider. I can't find myself. And despite all this, I know I will be fine.
I know myself good enough to figure out that I will survive. Because I deal with this every single moment.
I seek for perfection. I understand that it's wrong. It's unhealthy. But that is who I am.
I never know what to say. My mind is too empty and too full.
I enjoy being alone. I hate it at the same time.
It might seem that I care. But I don't, though I do.
I don't feel, I think.
I don't think, I feel.
I don't know how to act around people, but somehow, things works out.
I would like to change the world. I'm a romanticist.
I've changed the world. My own world.
I feel like an outsider, but I'm not one of them. Others are.
I'm not fake, I don't trust people.
I might be judgy, but i'm not mean.
I want everything and nothing.
I don't know what I want, but when I do - I want, what I want, when I want it.
I'm diverse, like everyone around me.
I don't have hopes. I prepare for worst.
I live in my head. I don't want to fit it.
My smile might seem not visible. But I smile.
I don't understand love. I don't know love.
I like rainy days. More than sunny ones.
I still love light. It keeps me awake, but I don't mind.
I love darkness. It suits me.
I don't like being awake, I daydream instead.