How many times a day
Do you ask yourself
What am i doing here?
How many times a day
Do you travel
To another dimension?
There’s just something about being in a place
Where you know you don’t belong.
How sad it used to make me
Attack my mind from all angles
Overwhelmed with anxiety
Of not “fitting in”

Now i’m almost numb
Because does anyone really fit in?
I believe in wanderers
I believe in wandering
Through the deepest depths
I believe everyone has it in them
Every time you feel lost
In a sea of people
Wander
Notice the other wanderers

I like to tell my adventures
Through poetry
Because i can speak in fragments
Of short lived thoughts
This is my escape
From the place i never belonged

I sat on the farthest bench from my parked car
Across the fluffy fields
Next to a companion i knew for only months

She leans slightly towards my ear
And points at a girl dressed in floral scarves and stones around her neck
My companion Whispers “she looks lost”

She didn't mean lost
As in direction
She meant lost
Within herself

She said that four letter word
With despite
Almost humorous was she in her tone

What is so much better about knowing yourself?
Answer me this
Would you rather?

Would you rather
Decide on the person you are now
Destroying free room to elaborate
To see new perspectives
Close your eyes and be satisfied

Or would you rather
Decide you are lost
Not let the past define you
Venture down different paths
Open your eyes wider
And blossom into the all-knowing

Being lost should never be deteriorated.
It’s those who are lost
Who find all the answers

My breath is screaming
Heavily convulsing my chest
Over and over.
I’m losing my grip.

The first step is always the hardest.
Deciding to decide.
Should i lose my grip?
Am i allowed to let go?

Free falling through weightless molecules.
Closing my heart to the world
But opening my eyes to a new life.
My personal utopia.

They won't miss you.
There are a million more just like you.
The maltreatment of humanity is expanding.
Morality slowly shrinks to nothing.

This is the life
Not only that i live.
This is the life
Of the millions just like me.

but the way his eyes shine,
the rays of the sun become covered and
overcome
by the brightness,
the warmth,
and the beauty of
the soul
inside his eyes
and that's what i fell for
and that's what i became
insane for

a.r

I light cigarette after cigarette
to sort my own thoughts into piles of “*******” and “worse *******”
just to create some kind of order in my head.
I told myself to never stop trying,
to never stop learning but,
I continuously find myself reviewing the things I've known for months
and even years.
I think sometimes humans get too comfortable with their minds
and that's why the human brain never will never be used to its potential.
Personally, I have gotten way too comfortable in the past couple of years.
But the comfort I obtained was none that could be considered enjoyable or blissful. I have became Comfortable with lying and being lied to.
I found comfort in the makeup *** that lasts 20 minutes after the two days of crying. I found comfort in the word crazy because at least I wouldn't look stupid.
I looked very stupid.

I almost never questioned if he was the right one.
Not because I believed he was, because I was too scared he wasn't.
How easy is it to fall in love with the wrong person?
True love has to be easier? Or is this it? This isn't what I've dreamed about.
This isn't what I read in books and it's not what's on mtv.

There's never a happy ending.
The only happy ending I've ever known is laying down,
in the seats in the back of my car for a quickie to ease the tension.
I hate ***. He made me hate physical contact. He made me hate mental contact.
I just wanted to sing songs to each other while dancing in our underwear.
I wanted to twist his tiny curls.

He wanted money.
He wanted to work.
I wanted to go to school to create a life for us.
He wanted me to stay here and stay miserable.
I wanted him. He wanted her.
That's how the game always worked. I wanted one thing, he wanted another.

I'm tired of being tired but
I’m even more tired of being awake
I hate breathing
But everytime i try to stop
I tell myself i want to keep pushing myself
To see how long i can hold my breath
I see it as a game
But should you play with death?
“Stop ******* eating Xanax”
Keep eating xanax
The same people telling you to stop
Give you more reasons to play the game
Most people want to win
I’d rather lose
I want to disappear
They tell me this is only going to end one way
And i respond with only one word
“Hopefully”