if i could capture you with a metaphor
i'd say you were like the sea:
hidden power, tides moving with the moon.

i'd say you were like cliff diving
because i live for this temporary suicide
and the adrenaline rush halfway down.

i'd say you were like magnetism,
sparking, bending light,
drawing me in without discrimination.

i might even say that you were like a metaphor,
because they try to make sense of the impossible
and that's what you do with me.

On the sixth day,
God created Man.
On the seventh day,
God rested.
And for days and days onwards,
Man demanded
more, more, more.

We devoured every piece of fruit
from the Tree of Knowledge,
yet we still held out our grubby,
juice-stained hands,
asking Him
for more of the forbidden ammonia.

And still,
God provided.

His tired hands,
worn from work,
fashioned miracle after miracle
to feed our selfish desires
yet
it
was
never
enough.

To call ourselves
the superior species
would be too self-gratuitous,
too unfitting.

How can we call humankind
the top of the food chain
when humankind
has lost all of its humanity?

I'm not sad.

It's just that I wake up in the morning and I wish I didn't.
Every time I see a car zooming past, I also see myself in front of it.
I stopped crying because I feel like my tears are apologies for living.
They say it is only a vice but they will never understand how my blackened lungs serves as the only thing that reminds me I am alive just for the very reason that I am still struggling to breathe.
The clock is working but my time is frozen. I took its hands and put them in shackles.
My body feels a little heavy than usual as it fails to lift me out of my troubles.
I read a hundred different worlds from books and wish that I'm in one of them.

I'm all of these things...
                   but I'm not ******* "sad".

Home is the loveliest and most marvelous place
yet, at times
It can be the most agonizing and harrowing place to be at