Always trapped inside my head.
Thankful I'm not drowning in voices like most,
but it is painful in this lonely outpost.
Drowning, engrossed in what I had wrote.

There is pain when you're drowning in silence.
Grinding my gears, not minding the mileage,
where I am hiding it's timeless, sad but the time seems so priceless.
On my very own island, hiding sick with a virus.
In this vacant cosmos my spirits the highest,  I cannot with any amount of effort consider to hide it.
it's evident, blue flame in a fire,
there's a glint in my iris.

locked in my galleria with no one but me and nothing to see,
there once was a couple of things you could read.
Now there is nothing it was all thrown away,
years of time, buckets of tears that soaked pages better than any tissues could, I would turn to my pen like an addict who was going through relapses shaking kneecaps as I was covered in sweat and ashes.

All notebooks scraps and relics of the past which took ages, all my outrages, rampages, and dark ages. Things I'd think about while I'd relax. Happy thoughts, sappy rhymes, whenever I'd have time scribbling poems like vines and rewriting the same phrase a thousand of times.

Like paint splattering, throwing letters which came to make words, which then led to phrases most were failing to follow.
Phrases amazing like Picasso full of bravado I come from a grotto I'll burn your mazes with my brazen statements I will not abide by something sour and hollow I will speak like Apollo.

Captivating what I thought, what I felt and seen as one follows the road that we drive, the interstate of life on maybe 100 years of gasoline hoping a leak doesn't wreak havoc on this unique offbeat path that we reap.

I wrote about the times I prayed to god to thank him.
Also, the hatred I felt deep down that I hated.
Loving people for what they did, but hating them for what they didn't. Things that I loved, things I wanted to show to the world when I felt I gathered the courage to play them.
That's all. I just wanted to play them.

Whether they listened, whether they cared, I just wanted to know that someone was there.
Someone would know I was speaking.
Someone would recognize I'm facing the world with my fears all behind me.
I had something complex and profound inside me.

I'll sing recite or speak, I'll give it a beat if that's what ill need to convince someone to listen.
Saying whatever I felt, heart on my sleeve,
with no concern for- anything-  just me.

Pleaded to bleed my heart to the world,
I crumpled and ripped up the sheets,
sometimes telling myself it wasn't me.
In truth I never felt that they were complete.
would I see that I was not crumpling paper, I was crumpling me?
When you come to the gallery,
hopefully I will have something for all to come and read.