everyone sees me like I have vulture eyes,
that I’m a walking demise,
like they’ll never see another sunrise,
like I’m Death in disguise.

i see the marchers of the trees,
i see the marchers of the seas,
they fall in line with weaponries,
knowing someday they will be missed.

as i stand in line i'm paralyzed,
i ask myself is it worth the price?
have i got nothing to lose?
will i make myself a bit of truce?

i will make myself a noose
don't worry, it will be loose,
the marchers are entering the doors,
of the ships and the planes,
it starts to rain.

i hide under a tree,
the rain found a way to pour on me.
i camouflage myself in the sea,
it's colder and harder to breathe.

high on the mountain,
i see the marchers look at me with concern.
from the bottom of the water,
a message in the bottle from the marchers.

"choose your line, is it up or down? is it high or low, or hanging at the equator just about unsure. is it forward or backward, or stay and build a fort?"

take me up, seal the door.
i don't want to march here anymore.
thought i knew what i'm marching for,
i'm not a marcher anymore.

i am polarized,
help me unpolarize.

there's nothing at the center,
blame me as i'm the traitor.
at the two poles,
stood the two souls.
the tales of how they absquatulate,
fighting each other as sanity fades.

i wander,
ponder,
wonder,
i'm a goner.

help me unpolarize,
but don't sympathize.

two personas or two persons?
a and s sit next to each other, if you pay attention.
they're really different,
but please, don't be concerned.

they observe,
i'm unnerved.

so don't sympathize,
i'm tired of my lies.

the two souls control
the main control,
it becomes a ground zero,
the souls become foes.

i'm tired of my lies,
so should i close my eyes?

I.
the background noises in his head,
they make him wish he were dead,
make him afraid to tread,
an endless ****** red thread.

a tight-gripped gun,
a twisted kind of fun.
fueled by inferiority complex,
makes him grip a loaded gun of god-complex.

II.
reckless and unaware,
treading heavily into places no one could bear.
the trauma of countless no more
capitalized and embossed into his core.

a perfect villainous smile,
vile,
nailed into his metaphorically unbreakable cranium,
distorted invested repressed tantrum.

II b.
he is hell bent,
yet heavenly sent.
regretfully,
sadly.



III.
he just wants to fill the emptiness,
a validation of his worthiness.
his head is the seven seas of confusion,
with a room mirroring the worst reflection.

IV.
shotgun clacking,
a madman in the making,
unloaded,
“fire it!”
fired.

V.
a deafening heartbeat under his ribs,
poor souls forcefully reaped,
ghosting the veil,
who’s going to tell the tale?

VI.
“what have I done?”
a dropped empty god-complex shotgun.

VII.
one, two, three, four, five, six, sev-
before he guns himself.

dots, the zeroth dimension.
lines, the first dimension.
planes, the second dimension.
spaces, the third dimension.

add each dimension with itself,
you’ll get the next thing in line.
add two third dimensions together,
now what’s on your mind?

are there limits to the universe?
are we destined to understand all the complex wonders?
or is it just for the one who wanders
to turn the secrets into understandable verses?

I just hope,
someone would send me the envelope.