Art Religion Philosophy Science

We all need purity. Why? Is it because of what we see around us? Is it something within ourselves that triggers the need for purity?

I'm trying to figure it out. What is it like to be pure? Is it a state of mind, is it a physical sensation? I'm looking everywhere for this purity. I had an angelic girlfriend, I like feeling the presence of Angels and Archangels. I love my faith, if there's such thing as karma. I have good friends that truly believe in Jesus and their presence is a blessing to me. I love writing and beautiful writings that stir me into spirituality and higher levels of consciousness. Yet I'm also humble and cherish small things that make life seem so big.

Sometimes I wonder where my heart is. I keep hearing how it's beating, but I don't know where it is. My pockets were full of sand when I was little. The touch of desert was everywhere, in my eyes, in my nostrils, in my smile. I always had a passion for honesty, for I was unable to achieve it. When I start writing I let myself fly far away and meet my dead girlfriend and kiss her and never forget she was the light of my soul for so many years. She loved me in unimaginable ways and I still feel her warm voice shivering inside me. I remember my bipolar desires and her openness to every expression my personality would take. I guess her love was like a stamp, as I feel every bit of her soul moving my romantic cruelty away from those who try to hurt me. 

Purification is achieved when you have the courage to burn away all of your dark desires, I mean those desires that make you suffer in a devilish way.

"Blind love". 

I hold my breath when I ask you to give up. You never know what follows, you never know where you'll be carried away every second. Not too idealistic, not too dreamy. Rooted in joy, my wings label any sky. How do I live, what's the point of going further? Chaos is a manifestation of  potential love. Love that needs to be addressed like a speech that breaks down when the speaker forgets about his body...

I'm always there and you cry over me.

Purity, grace, bliss. Where should I put my scars? How should I invent my dignity? Where's the tone of my faith, if not in these books that leave me unread, unfinished? Paper for all of us, haters of pens and pencils. Paper to write on when you don't know how to spell "mirror". 

Purity in the name of purification, growing like sandals on bloody heels covering mental hills and uncovering horrible sounds that water embalms its fishes in. My hand is drawing this word and I can't stop it. Someone's moving my fingers all over, it's so easy to flip off my sentences, as they are pure and frank. Purity is here so you can get the better of it. Purity is here so that you can spit on it and throw it away like a girl who surrenders to her parents. Purity vanquishes in a glass of orange juice and flows in an African tongue. Sublime thread of life batteries glowing in a sea of despotism. Why would I own you?

Purity, Camil. Or whoever finds it.