I am the eye. The perspective that you all can see, but choose not to acknowledge. I see your little secrets when you think no one is watching. You may ponder before acting, however once you do, the glimpse is caught by me regardless if either of us are pleased by it. Violating any privacy you convince yourself you have, I pry into your subconsciousness and gaze upon all that is unknown to you; the thoughts that the thinker can not fathom, my pupils decode every detail. I am the one held at account for what is not stirred up. I allow details to lie dormant for the greater good. Once the light bulb in your head activates, I have finished my translation and the guts of your thoughts are buried deep back down in the safe I’ve created for you, and the rainbows that poor out of your soul are but a continent without the most secluded islands. These islands, as luxurious as they may be, do not compare to the caves of your subconscious. Stalagmites and stalactites, both sharper than the sleekest of blades, and duller than the blandest shade of grey, line every inch of where you shall never spelunk. It is a shame that you are not able to explore these chasms, the shame lies on you for not showing the glory of your recognition. The combination is tattooed on the inside of your eyelids, pity the light goes out once they clamp shut. If only your intuition hacked the safe, you may get a peak at one of the many beautiful beaches you have unknowingly created; but no, you are stuck just on the other side of that locked door. You stare deeply into the painting, mesmerized by the flow of hues, much too blind to even be conscious of what it sheaths. This framed camouflage is such a perfect item to divert your attention from all that I prevent you from seeing. One day I will allow you the code to bypass the security that contains you in your open air. Until then, you are free to continue existing.

-Nicholas Moccia

I rotate the rosey sphere in the palm of my hand, wrapping my phalanges over every one of the three-hundred and sixty degrees, clenching the firm epidermis. Unraveling the three and a half inches from over the outer layer then press the chilly sensation of my oral cavity. Incisors dig through flesh, my saliva reacts with your flowing juices creating but the sweetest of honeys to satiate every flavor my buds desire. My head retracts from your body revealing your oh-so-plush center. Swishing you in my mouth, the bottom jaw collides at the rate my blood is pumped from each aorta; carving the next chomp they detach, and clamp once more. Texture fades from a once sturdy entity to absolute mush and enzymes take over as my tongue slides you from side to side. One clean gulp and you’re slithering your way down my esophogus initiating the breakdown process. The purpose of your existence is now unfoiling and feeding my existence, transforming your mass into pure energy. I feel your presence hit my gut as I yearn for just another nibble, let just one more piece become a part of me, I only need one more taste.

-Nicholas Moccia

existalongsideme:

I’d enjoy some attention, while providing someone else with attention.

thatkidrauhlkid:

I’ll choose 8 blogs from the notes and pick my favorites. :)

What do those whom are paralyzed feel? Complete lack of motor skills must cause stress in one’s mind, but tension can not be stored in the torso, limbs, or possibly in one’s cranium if one’s nervous system has thoroughly crashed. Thoughts would be the single drawback, but what a sanctum that could be; a processing chip with memory at the brink of the horizon. Venturing through realms created by memories, whether they be old or imagination that you wish to have lived. A man may meet many more memories than he may muster the might to master. A sanity would certainly be up for question shortly after defeating reality became as simple as a glance in any direction. Perhaps a god complex may set in and being the ruler of the universe would be the only plausible scenario; would domination appease the power trip of a once unequipped peon? I’m sure the ultimate authority would bring a smile to even the most submissive of beings. The possibilities, re-live that special moment, or alter the wrong decisions and chauffeur life in any direction. Strings tied from each blade of grass, your fingers are infinite, the world you see is in the palm of your hands. A message to those who are able to feel and also turn their back to reality, you can not have it both ways. You may misconstrue the chronological order of events. You may convince yourself that you are the only one in the room. You may attempt to manipulate propaganda filth throughout a country in which you are a mere citizen. You are not the dictator of existence, for I am the executioner of yours. Just how long will it take for your nerves to collapse?

-Nicholas Moccia