We don’t often visit
the pit of our stomachs
but when we do
things just aren’t good

I wish I were dead.
But not really dead, just unfeeling.
Unfeeling of pain, unfeeling of love,
unfeeling of all of the above.
But I resist everday
and stay alive.
Hoping and praying
I'll stop feeling dead inside.

going home isn’t always
returning to a place.
sometimes
it is returning to yourself.

It is a deluge of thoughts
that rush through
a brain that struggles
to contain,

a treat of glass
figurines
that stand straight up
set to crash
and be smashed
to smithereens.

To be crushed
by the immensity
of all things
that can
and will be
even a case
of
the was
and never was.

A bowl
filled
more than thrice
to the brim
with all of life

Heavy
and dripping
from the sides
all that overflows
is what
we write.

Just feel like everything is going too fast and I wish that time could be a little slower or I could have a little bit more time to ponder over big decisions that I have to make someday. Maybe I'm afraid of the unknown and I tend to distract myself from it. Maybe I'm not quite ready for this. What is life.