We are aware of time, we are aware of our youth,
But why is it still hard to see some hope?
This is bothersome, that's the truth,
Have you seen us? Improvising life to cope?!

We let minutes pass by knowing it's wasted,
Had a thought, had a plan, but held up,
By that which keeps anxiety sedated,
More, higher, stronger -- never enough.

Getting through the day, impostor,
Beaming both sappy smirks and so-so smiles,
Noting, jotting, moving from door-to-door,
Mixing memories and imagination of miles!

Light shines, light enters, lights, eyes,
The day commences and you convince yourself,
Whether have a breakfast of lies,
Or try, and give onself some good help.

Could it be problem sleeping
When sleeping is the problem?
What if the actual dozing
Is the source of the whole mayhem?

After nighttime, sunrises,
Lights up yet fails to beam up one's day,
Instead, probes your supposed places,
A fertile loam where anxiety can play.

I don't know what I'm waiting for,
Still I wait for it anyway.
May I find ways towards humor,
Maybe life and I can meet halfway.

Is this what ought to be,
Are these the sights I wanna see?
Is this how I wanna feel,
Each day the sunrise turns real?

This was dreamland of yesteryears,
Now a solid ground for hope and fears.
Young and stupid or old and wise?
Breathe; and tell yourself what applies.

Live; and remember these days,
This surely is a way how a story plays.
Gravitate towards your center,
There are new places we're about to enter.

And the thought arrived and it demanded to be written,
As if it was some nation’s citizen deserving of life and liberty,
Still we see our fingers working, our thoughts spreading,
Thus we succumb, thus we surrender, thus we write.

The ideal is known as sitting under a tree, running through forest,
Grasping for air yet losing it all on undying laughter,
Was it something I said or is it because this is my first time?
Convincing myself I have stopped thinking about it yet here we are.

These pillows have lived in parallel universes and realities,
Looking far wondering, “Is this how they see us? How they feel?”
With lofi beats as soundtrack of this rainy  and chilly afternoon,
We were reminded yet again of whom we’ve been.

And so thoughts will keep on demanding, will keep on arriving,
It’s for us to stitch them to a larger narrative — not snippets but cores,
This way we will know who we will be because of them good old days,
When you find yourself sitting on a different, yet emotionally familiar place.

Thank you society for ******* me — us — hard
Indeed, no one dies a ****** with you around
Thank you for the cornucopia of insecurity
For the endless seeds of doubts magnified
For the fragility we have chosen not to guard
Pitting us alikes ‘til you have curated your sound
Pulling us deeper and chains us in self-pity
Knowing that we’ll never be surely makes you satisfied
Then alas you get to blame us for our own shards
Managing to scar us despite being on ground
Turned us into strangers in our own city
Leaving us with nothing — not even being dignified

I am happy but I am envious
As it hit me once again who I am
Isn’t at par with the life I wanna live
Should dreaming be actually encouraged
In a society that sets up barriers
Chained with institutionalized cherry picking
Directing someone else’s life

I sleep I will awake — gasping for more time
Safe moments on bed — alone, yes
Defeated by them sneaky dark dogs around
They are silent but they are surely heard
Floods you with thoughts you’d wanna bury
Fighting with words yet immortalizing how it is
With seals weak, only a sec ‘til it barks again

How can you riddle out that which has no logic
Luck and tyranny rules the playing field
Fed with the ****** up and ****** imagery
That makes one appreciate someone less
By looking more than listening, knowing
How have I ended up here on this forsaken time
Will I ever or could I ever build a life of rhyme

I taste of ash -- of something burnt,
Takes me sub-atomic through wrinkles in time.
Perhaps that explains the right shoulder's pain,
Or the blood from the spit flushed down the drain.

You've been drinkin', smokin', well, wastin'
The thought came to fruition.
Good old limbo knocks and gets all comfortable,
Leave -- like how we know are able.

Find a way to shake universe's hand,
Without fire and heat, in enclosed spaces of insecurity,
Be able to find yourself in somewhere new,
A place in your thoughts you've always known to be true.