Can ye heard me?
The profound words aren’t profound anymore.
Take the word, ‘writing’ for granted..
I was writing to be free from survival..
To face what I didn’t face in real time.
To give opinions on things that didn’t matter much.
It didn’t even happen.. I didn’t bear the weight as the usual people do.

Sometimes I walk down the road and the light in the morning shine while the cold didn’t.
It left the darkness from the house to the world, the front exterior tied to a mask.
I like wearing a mask to hide one’s identity.
Rather just pretend I don’t see under the surface, like I don’t catch a thing underneath..
I don’t live to write what I have to say.. I don’t write, like the bones and skulls aligned with the personality..
I don’t write like anything or anybody as much as the soul crawls to the next individual in front..
I don’t exist to write for joy.. for happiness.. that is existential, but it’s mere existence is gone..
It’s lost and forgotten under the glass windows it hid under.

I don’t show up for happiness..
To be happy with the way I write..
To be productive..
To be foreshadowed by one’s expectations and assumptions.
I consumed those words, but they did nothing to me..
I have joy, but joy is empty to me.
To have joy is to not exist.
To celebrate is to turn down opportunities in their own ways.
I am empty for the epidemic of survival.. I am not to overcome..

I like being in boxes that don’t fit me.
The type of boxes that weaken under pressure.
The type of boxes that become something else..
I have nothing to say, nothing to show you..
Nothing to become, if one has to hide themselves.. it’s easier said than done isn’t it?
No need to answer the question it will follow through in the end..

I question the pond if you see the same reflection..
The same appreciation, the same thought all ******* in one piece.
One place, one mystery.. I’m curious about you, but I digress.
How do you know I am a deep thinker?
How does one know I’m not faking it?
The way I just see the gift you hold and the way your intentions move through the spirit of your eyes.
I noticed a lot..
A lot of stuff, but I don’t say it out loud.
To me you are something, but I can’t describe it.
I can only erase it, it seems.

Erase the noise and fill the void.
I never heard of such words attached to a flower before.
Attached to space within when I barely noticed my own.
The pain carried inside and page of the paper I hold torn as the soul of my very own.
I don’t exist.. Do I exist to you somehow?
Do I stand on my own two feet?
Do I matter to you somehow.
I’m questioning if this is real or not, if I’m seeing things.
I would rather be a crow, a bird instead of a human..

I rather look at the world and look at it as an outsider.
A ghost, a skeleton, a poet, but you keep pulling me back into this picture of being seen.
I don’t understand, yet I grapple with the idea of being heard.
It doesn’t make any sense to me, I’m just confused with the way I hold things.
The way I matter to you it’s all confusing and scary.
Sometimes I block out the noises, but they keep coming back..
I block out my heart for you, but it lands on that day..
That one day.. where I gave you a card and we laughed together..
It was something new and I didn’t know how much I would mean to you later on.
How mutual this whole thing..

I’m so confused..
The darkness from the water is filled with rain..
The same rain that drowned me in the car, cried in a river.
Get the ****** tools and make nothing out of it..
Call me by my name, but I don’t see you.
Sometimes I look forward to seeing you, as you interest me.
I don’t say anything because my mind doesn’t have an ending of thoughts.
The layers are cold, but nothing is broken.

I’m sorry to pretend I was profoundly okay.
That I sat there in the car not wanting to face the day.
That I stood there in the awake of your eyes not speaking nor listening.
My head was in a breeze awakening by the fire I breathe..
The taste of pages runs deep, but I am not deep.
I’m not the one suffering under a tunnel of bricks in the darkness to be suffice.
To be sacred in the darkness.
I am a tunnel vision of my own self..

To experience such a soul in their own loops of thinking.
I am not one to think about or dream.
To carve the vision that I’ll do great things one day.
To become something I’m not under the illusion that falls into delusion..
I am many, but not my own existence that carries its own truth.
The truth lies inside of you, but it won’t break loose.
If the string is broken and loose itself loses its own grip overtime.

To fade away from a world is rather painful.
I slipped into my own pain from the chair that gave me hope.
Just like writing this gave me a voice to shadow the ones that slip into nightmares.
I am a soul with wounds.. that’s a thought I wouldn’t bare to say out loud..
To speak the truths that long and wonder around my very soul.

Sometimes on some days I look at you as a human being.
Not because I don’t see it, it’s because your influence on me is strong.
You inspired me to think deeply and see the world differently..
Now I’m at the height of high levels of self-awareness and I’m aware of my cognitive abilities.
Yet I can feel the way that middle ground freezes up and the way my feelings become dull as a brick.
If it’s how cold I am, maybe my attitude won’t change and don’t need changing.

I don’t need a fix, if you hear that I don’t need such a thing.
I’m a soul trying to understand your true intentions and your thoughts.
It feels as if you are taking the way I slide underneath the assignment to your framework.
Is how I sit there and look at the possibilities that you barely or might not consider.
I’m met with deflect or dismissal.
Maybe I don’t understand, but it feels like it’s aimed towards me.
I’m trying to be serious and real remember that because when the concept of connections are asked..
When it is asked I won’t know what it is you want me to say or reach for when I’ve been cut down.
It was accepted and now I’m cut off, like a broken door.

I understand you're a human.
I didn’t say I didn’t understand.
I didn’t say I didn’t understand your intentions.
I didn’t say I don’t understand all of that.
You give me a fix, sure I accepted it but I don’t all at the same time.
Don’t reduce the way I think to a block.
To a tower of impossible.
To a cold bed of unimportance.
I’m barely sorry you might take that as a different thing.
I’m not avoiding work, no.
I may be the only one talking about it, sure.

That doesn’t mean I’m setting it aside.
I’m trying to understand why your framework doesn’t suddenly connect with me.
Like it used to, I’m no longer a quiet paper.
I’m trying to speak even if you bare to hear me.
Yet I don’t think your help is helping me.
I didn’t need a fix or solution.
It didn’t need to be quick to hand me out of the way.
I just feel ignored, like a pencil is on a desk.
Where I land is nowhere, but the time I don’t give in to you is nowhere too.
It is nowhere because I went nowhere. Part of you lost me I think.
I just think because I think I’m not assuming sometimes teachers are like this too.

My shadows are forbidden creatures that developed into monsters once they grown old.
They grow, like files in the winter and humans in the summer.
Catch me a shack break instead of a snack break.
I see the black pen you used on the page you bled out to.
The same page is lonely on this street full of cars and roads.
If the scenery was right,why didn’t you change it?
Let it become a simple imagination scheme to pull on the creatives.
The thing is I seem different, as if the vision I had didn’t crawl behind my back to take me down.
Take me out of this room and bled into the black and white candles on the table.


Sometimes I rise up from the counter, just to see your pretty face light up on my screen.
The screwdriver stuck into the hammer, but lights are all bright and exclusive.
I keep myself beyond the halls and wines of doors and *****-ups.
I see grownups with their kids and their kids running away from them as they grew up.
I see nothing of me inside of them, the kid who grew lost became unbearable.
I would never be unstoppable and automatical.
Watch this bar light up in the darkness.
See the drunks on the wall, haunting out of breathe.
Getting close to you, but then going away from the space.

I was never safe, you heard me?
You heard me once, now I’m talking backwards twice to make sure you exist in space.
The future is dulling and weightless as I carry it on my back a bit.
The same hit they filled with glue to target people, it ain’t the same as a shooter.
It ain’t the same thing as a casual wipe to the people who lived and the ones who died.
I give a sorry, and then cherish them until my very life.
In the world, I am to give sorrows to throw them away to become a different version of myself.
To seek the joy I never had, but I respect those people who fought to survive.
The people who live on now, the people who still live, the people.
No disrespect, if I wasn’t throwing your way.
I respect.

I didn’t tell you who I respect though.
I didn’t you just fell for it.
No, but nothing beyond what I can say.
What can I do if it is enabled to slaughter me in highness?
You’re my kindness, bleeding but I won’t erase the years of truth you laid upon my sides.
Got me with tape and handcuffs to be trapped in your ****** ways.

Hold your ideas.
Hold your breath.
Hold your space..
Hold it close before the chains rock away.
The turn signal becomes a warning of a breach of trust.
I trusted one, but another came and flew away.
To the lights, I have lost and glimpsed another trust.
The paper was once who I was in the world.
The space that keeps moving on from frame to frame.

I can bare that the world won’t survive without art.
Without poems or poetry of all kinds.
Of people’s sufferings mixed into the frame.
The art of all music is not ever forgotten.
Nor can it be restored, if one lost it.
I lost the drive to do things, the break to complain.
The opportunities I allow to slip up, all because I was me.
I was picking and choosing myself for all my stakes.
I saw my components and composure, filled the core of replacement.

The deep end of learning becomes an environment of survival.
A talent for coldness and a posture for numbing.
I wish you knew how I longed to stay.
How I change my journey path just to be far away.
Just to be distanced and framed on a wall far away from yours.
Ah. The breath I take isn’t the same with the smile plastured on my face.
The art I take away.
The puppets I bleed and pray under conditions.
Circumstances unchanged and mellowed through the walls.

I am an artist..
A walking skeleton.
A feather in feat of my actions. 
I am me..
A soulless bird.

I see you barely had to think of a title there.
There you go.
I see you and I see you.
Is that enough for channeling my inner fears?
My plausible thoughts that endlessly become overwhelming.
This is the detached version of reality.
The emotions that fog it up from day zero to day two.
As if I wished to be heard in the darkness, nothing I bare to happen there.

The turning point is the purpose of constant shadow figures.
The void I hear, hear ye.
The void I am.
The void becomes the pond I am.
Can I appreciate your soul once without crushing it on the keys of the desk?
Can I appreciate the soul you’ve given me, ever so dearly.
Desperately, chasing for love while you are chasing holes in your heart.
Love is love for the love is closely love and tied together is love.

Be in a hallway where the choices matter, but the comfort doesn’t.
It is uncomfortable to be the comfort of the confrontational.
Take a soul, and I’ll give you mine.
These pauses are cold, but soulless.