Michael Matsuda

The blank white washed wall. Covered in posters, it looks a little more elaborate than before. Consequently, it appears more appealing but no matter how hard you try to hide the wall with paper, beneath it is still that sad stale plain wall.

Sometimes, if you fixate your eyes to that wall in the pitch black of the darkened room only set aglow by the computer monitor, you can see it become animated. The wall starts to move inward, shapes are formed by the uneven coating of paint that move with life. However, everyone else will look at this wall and see nothing.
...

I am from the Shadows.
I am from the dark womb.
I am a silhouette from the sonigram,
Quiet but moving and forming contemplations.
...

Dismay, disarray;
Marionette, let me make you who you are today
Put on that schizophrenic mask, smile and play
These phantom limbs and phantom thoughts
...

Perfection is not instant
Remember that perfection is a process of trial and errors!
There are no shortcuts in time so go the distance.
But do not stray from the path like fool's gold I'll compare!
...

Air:
Simplistic features.
Breathing puts life in your soul.
God's intrinsic gift.
...

Time, just like water, flows in only one direction.
The current of time is the strongest, no matter how strong your affection
for memories you cling, they are like rocks you set at the bottom of the river.
The are not going move as the current moves you.
...

rain.
The God's cry their awful cry and the sadness falls to the Earth.
Such gray skies gives a sign that the God's are not happy.
They blow their breaths and create the trade winds.
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Axial rotational ride
Too beautiful to let yourself hide
Such short time on this lush green roller coaster
We can't spare clocks on braggers and boasters
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I have become accustom to the clouds

The deity that holds me away leaves me thinking out loud
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A feeling too little too late

For by this time I'll be leaving in a nearby date
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Father Time, it is you whom I address
You are a sorcerer and a demon
The reaper, a named so inclined
Don't kill with a scythe but with the sands of time.
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Solitude and loneliness
The theme of forgetting
Not forgetting thoughts
But forgetting who you are
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Death, you are not as swift as the legends say.
Your plagues, your instant kill, your murders and death of age are not as they seem.
You know this but people like me can see your weakness; your follies.
What flaws you have.
...

A place, you see, where I can reach my goals
A place I have created that suits my morals
Though a paradox of exaggerated thought may seem pathetic
Deafening contacts with reality makes the horrible seem more aesthetic
...

The stars fade into the daylight.
The sun rises as time is lost
and the stars leading the way home
are hidden.
...

I truly do not wish to mine
The more I dig
The truth to the mystery I might find
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I think; it is a curse in a blessing.
With this, I can write in hope that someone knows
That reality is opaque and oppressing
Look into my soul the through nature’s windows
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You're a book-smart devil
Forever Manipulating
Every time I quit
You are again tantalizing
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I can't sleep at night
Because all I think about
Is the kiss from the one I like.
...

He goes on thinking.
His brain conjures up contradictions.
He's tired of hypotheticals.
He scrambles to grasp the concepts of the world around him.
...