Words were a cigarette.

Tangled with the green umbrella.

I hear laughter, ill at ease.

Was that me? I wonder in awe.

Grey clothes. A smoke in hand.

Words are smoke, such a charm.

Thoughts trying way too hard.

At ease and calm, but the chaos hidden.

They have found a place to grow.

But no, it seems wrong.

Anger in the ashes.

The smoke's all air now.

Futile and basking in the hit that remains.

Knowing well, that it's not going to last.

Charred lungs and a moment gone.

Maybe it was worth it.

Change, it's a constant.

But my thought's, they're a blunder.

Break somthing, the inner voice chants.

Burn the lighter itself.

Wish it was possible.

Atleast I know that smoking is injurious to health.

Guess it's all for the best.

I throw the cigerette butt onto the ground.

Sparks fly.

Wish I could save it.

I stare at it for a while.

And then, I step on it.

I killed the machine.

Something way too powerful at work here.

So, all my life, I’ve had these tiny theories of mine that I’ve developed. Theories that try too hard to make sense of basic questions that begins with what, how, why, etc. I guess everyone has a few of them, questions and theories we abide by.
And it’s all natural for us to grow onto them, and also, allowing those theories to grow up as well, like a tree, free to move up towards the light, or far beneath the soil, in all possible directions, twirling, unrolling, realising.

The point is, I really feel tired of this, these days. Tired of developing theories. Sometimes, I have a feeling, that there’s just something much more powerful at work here. That despite me formulating my stupid theories, this powerful work, that goes about unseen, works its own charm, revealing a world that’s perfectly balanced, but also, incredibly dark and beautiful.

What’s the point of trying to understand something that I’m much too small to comprehend?
Things keep getting weirder by the second. I might be losing onto my childlike innocence, but I’d struggle to be the kid that I am, deep inside, inquisitive, and curious. Growing up, things seem much more complicated now. And they are just getting more and more complicated. 

I wonder if I should try to make sense of all of this, or just simply, let go, and enjoy everything that ever is. It’s really beautiful. All of this.

Biblical - Biffy Clyro
Skylight - Biffy Clyro
Stars And Shites - Biffy Clyro
Many Off Horror - Biffy Clyro
No I’m Not Down - Biffy Clyro