The memories that play on repeat
Turn over sheets, creating irreparable incomplete illogical theories that i brand so selfishly in the way i display my humanity.
I'm not sure if that's worth abandoning when they are memories...
Memories that come from me.

So whisper me this
What need i speak
To convince thee
To remain with me
In this
After morn' ?
What would it take for you to bypass my scorn.
Resuscitate while the birds chirp and morn.
Another morning walking on thorns.
Facing spaces with their horns.
Faces breed from harm.
Traces in their songs. Of mornings beyond.
Its not complex unless you think them wrong.
Because my path is laced in that song.
Evidence of the times and what's going on.
I mean, they don't mean to sit with the devil forming bonds.
But he runs tests through our moms.
If you haven't noticed...
I have my own shade of horns.
They show when i hit you on the horn.
Harm is harm, thats the deal we made in our humane forms.
Your arms are in the wrong place, shaking hands selling our land to the past, while the future disappears...
At last...
Its gone past.

I'm going through a thing; where all my friends are parking on the brink. They sitting out my reality, they no longer message and ****.
I'm getting text from my employers. I'm moving like the Tom Sawyers. But they don't see that, I think. Denominator is me, and the chaos I drink.
It's the 64 percent in my skin.
I cannot lie that I'm in, a confined superficial type dream where I'm happy and grin. Because their presence is thin. They got weapons i mean, the way they leave me on seen.
Got me seeing in grim.
Their tendencies stings.
Guess that's just more *** for my drink, making me spin, so i won't have to think of their swing. They use a bat as a pin, let the sewing begin.
Do they know that their stitches are mean. Covering scars i ain't seen. I know that the peoblem's within. I know I'm the problem but then...why do I know so much about them?
Like a family friend, who's never welcome again.
I find it hard to pretend, while apologizing again.
For my perspective's bred sin.
I don't really miss them i mean...i know I'm lying by this.
But tell me where the point really is?
If we won't have love for each other's spouses and kids...

I wish i could explain myself
Fully explain myself...
Stop delivering pain to myself
Be deliberate, and save myself
Instead of filling out the page by myself
Speak in full sentence to you by myself
I'm tired of being lame by myself
Not interested in fame by myself
So the emotions on the page are for myself
I wish i could give them to you myself
Explain why i need all of you to myself
I sorta need saving from myself
And you know what else...
I'm getting used to it being me and myself.

It was in about grade 3 when i noticed
I lack an identity, and the way my personality eroded.
I dart around in the brackets my parents placed me in
How they raised me and
The dos and don'ts they praised me with.
How i follow their bandwidth.
Each footsept like they planned it.
It's why I'm demanding.
I need more because it wasn't exactly nurture they were handing..
All i know is, i don't fit human branding.
I'm standing with the outliers outside outlines in the midst of misunderstanding.
It was a crisis when i was ten then
It became titles for my pen, friend.
The underlying topic of my expression became my lack of my individual expression.
Need i mention, my only identifiable trait is I'll give all my attention, or sit like the rowdy kid in detention.
Unable to sit still and listen.
Final question:
Is my image so important because i failed the identity lesson, or am i just caught in that societal superficial weapon?

I hear the wind has begun blowing through your sails.
I hear your ship has reached enough shores, and that it departed from just as many.
I hear your mast has grown heavy, and your tasks are not plenty.
I hear the waves that called you to sea have begun to recede.
I hear that your hands have applauded at a vast amount of occasions.
I hear you've been introduced to enough people.
I hear that i won't be able to introduce you to my children.
I hear that you will not be able to save their lives as you've saved mine.
I hear that your crew has reduced to a navigator, first mate and Captain.
I saw that you are happy. Happily heading home into after life.

Words hold …
Weight
Power
Dictatorship
Emotion
Words hold the strength to ride upon the fiercely thrashing breaths of life.
As such they reign over the in-credible aspects of life that your conscious can take credit for.
Creating laws that your soul abides to unconditionally.
Laws that paint your mind as a revolutionary that needs to be  imprisoned. Intrusive thoughts can be charged with breaking and entering as well as intrusion.
A person’s entirety can be measured in about three words
I am alive
And
I will die.
Examples to mention a few. People have said that words are daggers.
However they could be shields. Guns. Flowers. Fire ice. Literally painful. Figuratively peaceful. Words could be hell. Words could be heaven.
They could be the insurmountable link connecting you, inseparably, to the person that your very soul belongs to.
They could be the embers that fall gracefully upon the dry leaves nested, inseparably, on the bridge burnt.
In different ways, shapes and notes…words distort space and time.
Words working for the ministry of Anxiety can reduce a room to nothing more than a skin suit with a vague promise of a chrome shaded window.
Words under employment in The Department of National Anger, turn seconds into islands spread across planets where each second is taken for granted as your anger festers and flourishes where planted
It's never taken a second for revolution to conquer.
Words weaponized wisely would win wars.