Sleep is for the weak

And the even weaker stay awake
Forcefully
Unwillingly
Tumbling
Running around in their minds
Their destructions
Or their happy memories
The delusion of life
And the opinion of the apple holder.

If a princess cries

Can you see it in her eyes?
We are left with the unknown
Do we Criticise the Kingdom ?
Or Fantasize about the prince and how he is found in another forest for another battle against another beast.

do you blame the author for the failures of the characters? The characters have so much life that is truly their own fault.

I imagine it’s down to perception…

if a princess cries  is she the Victim or her own fault again?
Can it be both?
Even when it is, we biased against our opinion of said princess .

Why are we obsessed with blame?

The canvas is broken

you shouldnt of said that
It did not go down well
No now everyone is here
She is happy
Painter is not,
The silent water colours drip on to the bed, tinted the masterpiece a reck.
Only left are the brush marks left in red, over the purples and the blues, as the greens become greys.
We all know pain.
Work too much on the art that you over do it, then the painter has no control over the paints, the colours have found false freedom.

Imagination is influenced by nature surroundings. Nothing is ever real.

My hands stranggling the brush, the paints raining black destroying it’s own beauty.

This ugly artwork is too wrecked to be fixed; a new canvas is needed for show.

That canvas, self destrucing, you’re destruction, you destroyed, you murderer.

There was so much gold im here, now you’re touch is ice ‘nd I shiver not of cold but with every passionate fire that desires to burn with every term you’re existence still abides by.

Die.

Do a favour to the misunderstood poet who has taken the persona of a door mat, welcoming, knowing it’s fate, trampled by everyone and it’s own existice is to get dirty from the messy.

We know no else, I had a place of belonging. But now… That something, crushed me. When all ur intentions were beautifully kind, a blissful attempt at honest (possibly) support.

Yet now a wish to spit on your thumbs to escape that disgusting hand fed line.
It’s not the canvas, the painter, the art piece. 

It’s something else entirely

Micaiah’s xoxo

Apologies guys,

image

Haven’t been posting because I got the biss chance to take a break and ride away to disneyland Paris.

The magic there is truly stunning. No, it’s not just for children around the age of five and if you don’t like Disney animated characters… You are heartless.

In the art of animation I was able to discover how my favourite Disney character: Mushu, from the film Mulan, was created and brought to life.
Again no, it didn’t ruin the magic seeing the nuts and bolts, it made the magic more real… How it all starts in the mind; how imagination is influenced by our senses and the world around us.

So I hope you don’t mind, I’m back though, and I’ll try keep active 🙂

Micaiah’s xoxo

Fire fire

Just yell fire.
A flame can do more damage than a scratch.

Fire fire, burning born,
Baby I’ve missed you.

Glittering orange, yellow anger,
But it’s not me who flicked your switch.

Remember fire fire, liar liar.
I recall your callous dance, teasing comfort, devilish heat,
But play with fire, you get burnt.

Micaiah’s xoxo

Fear of the wind

I have some questions.
I am worried for My health.
I am sitting in a room,
Isolated, hot, cold, uncomfortable, scared, but I really want some answers.

At this rate tumblr could probably answer them quicker, and better.

God I can feel the fear in my stomach,
I can feel the tired tears of these tedious days building up and attempting to roll down this coaster of skin.

I’ll have to go soon,
It’s getting dark
I didn’t want anyone to know.
Yet I still expected I’d get to know.

Micaiah’s xoxo