The back and forth pace
behind the seal to individuality
a blurred plastic vision of a
mystery that could be joy
or utter sadness that maddens
or utter madness that saddens
the very soul of the soul and
the only spark that lives within
this state of mind, now may
remain or may not, on the
other side

- Kaya

It was like the shift
from noisy waves
to silent streams
that flow smoothly
over the calm chaos

The waves now have
settled to silent streams
with sunken ships
from the strong damage

-Kaya

A young heart,
like a fresh wound,
hurts more, when exposed
to the world of sour tongues,
bitter eyes and bland brains

A young heart, hurts
like a healing wound
that stretches to
the demands of life

There's no home,
when you are down
There's no home,
even when you are up

-Kaya

o mechanical world
we are the grease
to your machines
that hold you
for "ease" of "living"

how does one manage life
with great difficulty
we beings, are just being
but are we beings, truly living
in this world where the self
is not who we really are
but who they want us to be

-Kaya

I felt like smooth sweet tea
poured into brittle porcelain
it was a sense of, I would say
a guilty, blue satisfaction-
of being consumed by others
I'll be gone, as the empty cup
hits the table, 'ting!' as the
sound strikes the white noise
the windows to the noisy world
all gone, shut again, no more
to my eyes, to my ears, no more
I have become the bitter stain
left on white beautiful porcelain
easy to spot, and wipe the last of me
as I sink into the terrible drain
I shall never be seen again
this time, this is the last change
life is lost to peace, that ends pain

-Kaya

A deaf man devotes
his soul to his eyes
A blind man devotes
his soul to his ears
we rely on a shoulder
in times of loss
but rely on parts
of our own selves
when we are lonely,
away and far apart

-Kaya

let the disgust hide within
the transparent shells
of white crusty sin

They can see through
my dusty muddled skin
but cannot, of what is
engraved deep within

These shells, they are
fragile and blue
and in deep denial
that they belong to you

These shells, they do not crack
they grow old, to only
reminisce and bite your back

-Kaya