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the beauty of brokeness

Updated on February 14, 2011

Am a broken glass all shattered into pieces, all u can see are just broken reflection of a distorted image, touch me not for you will get wounded by my sharp ends, don’t stare either I don’t need your sympathy or mockery, just let me be in this tragedy of broken symphony.

So many have tried to pick me up and fix me but they just end up with wounded hands bleeding heart. Making them sing an out of tune melody. Putting them in disarray.

I don’t want to be move, I don’t need anybody as of the moment, I just want to be like this for a while. I want to indulge in these empty halls of echoing pain. For only by then will I learn from my mistakes, only by then will I long for someone to be there, only by then I would desire to be moved at last.

Like the artist path that needs to be taken the road of isolation, for only by then he can achieve the purity of his craft the nirvana of his existence. But once he bonds with that feeling of ecstasy, that single moment of erotic pleasure from within that once hunted him for so long in his dreams, it will be the symphony of his re-birth. The father’s joy seeing his first-born. The first time a boy felt a woman’s warmth.

And under the inferno’s fury I will be made whole again, beneath this pain and agony lays a gift of inconceivable treasure. But before I do I must endure this pain of being re-made being purified under fire, being broken down into pieces and be refined. With this crown of torn my sacrifice will be tested.


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