For me, time is something irrelevant. I don’t care if I waste it, until I need it. The days blur, fusing into a simple string. In my head, these strings knot and jumble. I’m left unable to decipher when, what, or where. My hunger and needs are forgotten, and I only realize after long days when I settle. Even then I don’t feel the need to get something, I could always go another hour or so, is what I tell myself as I lay down and get ready for the same thing tomorrow.

“I hope you’re happy” is what I scream into the wind.

Singing with Olivia makes me feel blind.
Blind as in ignorant, because ignorance is truly bliss.
I learned this as I learned the truth of the world.
All roses are beautiful, and all roses have thorns.

We are the roses, we are the hands that are cut.

Gasping for air,
clawing for breath.
Held in place,
by cold, wet hands.
Breaking the window
of the lake’s glass.
Air rushing in,
such a refresh.

Abstract and unknown,
That is what I call my home,
Here on this planet.

Everything needs light to be seen,
and until then it remains unknown.
I feel unknown,
but I have light nearby.
I have been seen,
and it makes me glad.

Aggressive, arrogant, and abusive,
with aggravation and absence,
and accidents that alarm.

Broken, beating, black and blue,
with bruises and blades,
and burns that blister.

Cold, cancelled, and captive,
with clashes and chills,
and contagiousness that corrupts.

If a clock breaks,
time does not.
The world moves on,
without a thought.
Even in days of love,
if one clock stops,
the other still runs.

When ones clock snaps,
or cracks or shatters or stops.
Stay with them,
as one day it will tock.