I am the infinite glass- the fragile barriers closing in;
A weight of the seed nestled deep in the shadows of the earth—
I am the inaugural stone, hurled into the depths;
The one that no one pauses to ponder whether
I will drift or quietly descend

I am the cracked brick, a seemingly trivial fragment
Of a grander edifice; yet, my absence resonates in
The echoes of this structure's eventual collapse
I am the glove worn by a *****,
Shielding an outcast from the harsh gaze of the world
I am the dust that mingles with ashes, lodged in your lungs,
A painful reminder of each breath you take
I am the wandering mirror, capturing and reflecting
Your sorrows back at you.

I am that infinite glass, my hands slipping
Away from my grasp, and in this loss, I struggle to uphold
My spirit through the lens of your experiences, I see the entirety
Of my being reflected back at me- I am that infinite glass.

You have outgrown a handful of lovers and a multitude of friends—
separating your solid pains from a liquid of your tears;
But you were caught in the strain, for as you grow and change;
those you’ve known will grow away to be a change of friends

Through every fence we ***** between ourselves, some remain
on the side where you cultivate your life, while others are
relegated to the opposite side, merely spectators from afar

Maturity is a bittersweet taste:
the sweetness of realizing your growth,
akin to savouring a fine wine, - contrasted by the bitterness
of knowing you will part ways with a few friends
Cos as you feel alone; you’re not the only one in this
world to find growth

Mix a bit of dye inside your tired tears- perhaps you want
to dye that colour of the ugly world you see; doesn’t fear grip
my hands, their surfaces fragrant with the scent of decaying leaves;
Shape me into the very skins trampled beneath an indifferent
pair of feet  

If only I could be a speck of dust—  
oh, that fleeting taste of recognition; to possess a name
held in high esteem—suffering. Or perhaps it’s merely a mark,
like a hidden dialect I whisper to myself when no one is around.  

I exist like the foliage of a tree, leaves drifting around us,
crushed and scattered; observing them through the window.  
But who, in truth, is observing us?

To bury a charm within this grass;
Let it stretch out my reach by a third of an arm-
I've been a love dealer, I was a third wheeler;
I was a candle maker, before the candle holder
Drifting in the breeze like a forlorn leaf
From a withered flower...

So cover my face in dirt,
To bury myself beneath the charm that does
The heavy lifting- love is so unforgiving; pulls me
Back further away- it's so **** receding, yet my longing
Only grows stronger; but I sound needy even
When I'm pleading; still my heart is bleeding

Still a man now, but also just a hopeless creature

Rusty finger nails pierced into the
walls of scratching the night
There's an ear hole of your own accord
bleeding over your hearing of that pain-
Waiting at the back of your dreams; you
probably lived your whole life in a taxi
You've been overdue for love,- their really
owe you taxes; as your face held a field of
all your tears, to water the after pastures

You shrank away grasping onto old figures
of yourself- you had a crush for someone for that
long, that they crushed you under their thumb,
and from those skins is where you bled

            "We can only be friends,"
                                                they said

The whirlwind of thoughts, are all so trapped, like a gridlock
in my head: red, green, orange lights flash as I linger on
the edge of despair. Just two hours past, I savoured my own
pride, now I drown in a sea of spirits, chasing a fleeting high.  
Let’s ignite a night of gold with a silver-tongued deception,  
As the evening blurs into a dream, I find myself drifting off.  

What drives us to step into a club?  
To leave pieces of our hearts while yearning for love?  
To grasp one last taste of our youth, before it slips away.  

I’m in the shadows deep, I've sought the night, with these spirits
raised and smoke clouds in their flight; escaping echoes of the
past, in fleeting moments, I breathe fast.  

I take a dance with demons- I pursue them to shed the skin that
I once knew. In twilight's grasp, I find my way, but in a journey
forged in shades of grey. I carry no shame except for the shame
I willingly embrace.

Life:  
I knew you intimately, yet our time was fleeting.  
Fair enough, fair enough, I take my leave from all.  
In the cacophony, a haunting echo of guilt lingers;  
I can't grasp the reason, nor who merits such sorrow.  
But pin me against the wall, and I’d still feel like a fool,  
With a gaping void in my chest, I’d perish young, a foolish soul.  

I hear the melancholic tune we hum to remember you,  
Marking another year of life, wrapped in a heavy shroud of despair.  
I can faintly hear the last birthday song sung in my honour;  
I wear a mask of smiles, offering thanks in more ways than necessary,  
Anything to bring a glimmer to their bright faces. I suppose I should.  

I suppose I should bid my final farewells, as if I haven’t  
Done so every sleepless night, wishing for an end by dawn.  
Yet here I remain, trapped in a hazy recollection that isn’t mine.  
I dream of becoming a poem, only to find my conclusion,  
The final pages, the last words. Perhaps tomorrow, I’ll awaken
to nothingness.  

But is it possible that one day I might weave these thoughts into
a poem, one that captures the essence of our shared existence,
even if it leads us to face our final moments in solitude? This thought
lingers in my mind, sparking a deep curiosity within me.