She walks, straight
towards my door. She grips
the handle, it's too late,
if this is fate, if this is a poor
projection of a tight connection.
I'm not sure. Never was I afraid
to lure. But it comes too close.

My ear pressed against it, my nose
caressed the glass windows, and I listened.
Never did I listen. I am distracted.

Two signs deciding the direction,
with one a subtle, strong connection,
the other is a question mark, both
roads seem so perfect. And you loath
making a choice.

But the choice will make itself in time,
you see, when plants are trampled, lines
of death, you assume your pick is solid
when the one you didn't take was squalid.

Stop assuming ****.

A path lighted, smoothly, the other,
dimly lit, with children of our mother
earth, green and flashy colours,
but one of both was wrecked by strollers.

What do I know, what I can see.
What do I want, man, all I can see.
I want to go, I want to be, wherever,
whatever. I'll never get there, though.

Not like this.

Not knowing made me anxious
made me prudent
carefully made me stop
brake for taking a break
for my own mind's sake
I crop
for health with stealth
It forbade me to
froze me, paralyzed, a ghost
It made me lose it, almost
though I never really won,
still I never lost
not knowing

Trusting your eyes or ears,
being captivated by a sum of fears,
not the perfect path of perception.
The answer might cause you perplexion.

Enjoy being naive,
only when you feel secure.
Because if only then you do believe,
you adapt to anything unsure.

Why do we hope when we should do?
Because, we are afraid, I'm telling you,
scared of growing up, not too happy with
time running out, with the future, like the
words that leave our mouth, time cannot be
reversed, time is a thing, to help us measure, cursed.