Oh how the saying makes me sick
And excuses, there are not
Devicive taunting, hate mimic
Once their weaponized from thought.
& So a new turn of phrase, a saying born within the dark;
A whisper to onself alone, a Cypher's scribbled, frantic mark-
For the first and only time, Not of me but you,
These writing's wordings weave a web,
Synthetically medicinal, the dream hopefully blue.

To be spoken to oneself, read, written or thought,
Of each word that's now misused, as the battle's fight is fought.
examined, explained, investigated my life
As if speech were the blade, language the knife

In half your life
I know not how
Something smaller
Something that, filled with pain
Without the parenthood of today
nourish joy, experience
Priorities purposing

From the first awakening to the sighted's sleepless death-

We're bent under times unbearable weight, between these events two,

I wont lose something beneath heaven's breath, worse,

Than the reluctant, peculiar, perfection of you.

Once Again- I don't know...
Deep, inside
the memories I left behind-
Close my eyes,

And remain helpless-
Again, Lost

To the fear.

Alone

It Feels More Than It Really Is,

Desolate abandonment
The void left by, taught through
The faces I would turn towards
And truest love I knew

Yet away from me, unhappily
Or indifferent, themselves have turned
Fixed, never to meet within my gaze
My life's  cautionary tale, discerned
Falling in love with many a friend
From very early on
Where nothing matters like they do,
No matter that they've gone.
No matter that the majority
the best parts of our life's real years,
Are spent relapsing in mere memories
As sincerely, serenely, their aura disappears.

It Really Is More Than It Feels

Alone