Heart-Shaped Box

I want to cry. And cry more. I don’t remember the last time I cried. Well I do, but it’s been so long that the whole event seems like some distant memory of past which is all but blurred out in front of my eyes right now. No, my eyes feel tired. Tired of looking at every little piece of nuisance become an integral part of this beautiful green world. They close themselves, my eyes. They’re not dry. Just tired and full of emotions. Emotions that vary on a high scale. They are constantly suffering. Scientifically too, if you want to look at them that way. But more concerning is the spirituality and innocence of them.

Everything, and I mean everything, is fucking them over. The people, useless jobs, waste of potential, worthless concerns, they don’t need all that bullshit. What happened to the sight of the sunset, the rays that breach your protective layers and are warmly accepted by your eyes like a mother receiving her son coming home after a long time? The birds, and their random flights, full of dreams and hopes of survival, focusing on what’s most important. That’s love to the eyes. They want to see as far as they can. Across the horizon and even more.

Towards the sky and inside a soul.

“What all do we rule, dad?” “We rule as far as you can see Simba.” Freedom. That’s what is conveyed by the bedtime stories. But they are not here anymore. Those bedtime stories. It’s all real but even more fake than ever. As fake as one can get. About everything. Inside out. To that extent where fake is real and real is fake. Cobain is singing about the heart-shaped box right now. Is that where true freedom and love for my eyes lie? I wonder. At least something isn’t a sham. But my eyes can’t take it anymore. The tears need to come out. My eyes need to be refreshed with a new original perspective. One that’s honest with itself and to everyone around. Maybe that’s why babies are so innocent. They do cry a lot. All the time.

I can’t.

At all.

I just can’t.