Should you find the most convenient way of breathing
It will not
make you
feel
more alive

Fold me like you always have,
Run your nails to set the creases,
Shape me to the form you crave,
Bend me into the art of your wishes,

My form forever yours to toy with,
I conform to your will and desire,
Expose my surfaces, above or beneath,
I will always be there for you to admire,

I can be flexible or I can be stiff,
That depends on what you want,
I am here to help fill your rift,
The one who says you can when you can’t,

Craft that which you seek of me,
I am but your art, your origami.

This is something I learned:
The stars are farther than they seem to be.
The coldest among the stars are red.
The stars look stationary, but they are not.
They move slowly away from each other.
Most of them separating, slowly into transparency.

We were the same way.
Too close for comfort and disappearing suddenly.
We were undeniably intense and erratic.
Our souls often orbit around ourselves.
Constantly pulling and pushing,
releasing and grasping.
It could be the cause for eternal destruction.

And yet with it,
We could collide, make things significant.
We made a space.

But even with these, you were the cause of my confusion.
It was as if I missed the equation
or lost the connection
between humanity and belief.

To this day, I do not know the capability of your love.

You had no consistency.
No gravity to hold us steady.
You choose to drain out.

And despite this,
I remain here alongside you.
As the moon settles where it is,
I am in proximity of you, always.

I'm desperately searching
For an ounce of permanence
In a world in which
Everything fades to nothingness

Pumping blood to my veins
Colorful life, colorless mine
Death is only a thin line
This world is already a complication
A work of imperfect imagination

I do not even know if it is for vain
Blood streaming, dripping, filling
Are you living?
Or just merely existing?

Falling deep when hurting
Why do you have to be the most sensitive part of this feeling
Cannot rise from this aching
But you are the reason why I am breathing
Telling me when I am dying

This heart is an abstract
An absurd tract
Are you God-made or a scientific fact
But both are just ideas that man created
Did I ask to be created?

All the while faith and knowledge are only what keeping me alive
But I do not want to be naive
Of what is behind reality
Or if this is just another fantasy

What is the meaning of life?
When all I am doing is running away from the knife
What is your true purpose?
You cannot answer that consistently, I suppose
Did you exist to just fill my emptiness
To keep me intact?
Even though what you gave me is sadness; now emotionless
What to achieve
When I do not know why I live

water falls, evaporates and returns to the clouds,
and over and over again, the process infinite from first day

i can no longer tell the difference between future dreams
and events past, the blurred process infinite will be resolved finite

i see the difference but cannot tell the difference,
finite events
repeated independently they are linked inexorably
in marches to the past that pass forward that re-define

not a loop, but a path one unified, a reversible coat
where the inside warms and the outside protects

memories of the future indistinguishable from the future yet to be