I tried. I tried going about my existence the way world wanted me to. I lived my life the way I was told you are supposed to live. I lived for them, by their rules. I wasn't ever smart or intelligent, sharp or funny..
I was never the brightest guy in my school nor the most popular.

I never liked studying, I never liked sitting idle waiting for things to happen either.. things that were placed in somebody else's hands..
to judge me, pass me or fail me.

but I tried. I tried really hard to become all that. and on days when I made it, it felt like I was wrong and they were right.

that they know how to live a life and I don't, that I tried too much..

I stayed awake all night so I could let them have a moment of happiness at my expense. I did all that, I lived all that, and I suffered.

day in and out. I was miserable, more miserable than anyone can ever be.

in my search of their greatness for me, I never made a friend because everything was a competition.


yes, I fell in love. but it wasn't love at all in the end. she was like everybody else, just wanting things. so I left.

and so I'm leaving. I'm leaving you all today. I'm leaving because even though I know you never meant no harm.. you did more harm than you can ever imagine.

I'm leaving because in spite of constantly listening to everybody..
I never learned a thing.

I'm leaving because i can no longer be a part of the world the way it is today.

a world that's not made up of dreams, or the sky. but people put inside boxes. I don't want to live my life in a box, and no amount of money can ever tempt me. no. today I leave.

today I leave, to never come back. for if I don't leave today, I might never. I'm leaving because I'm tired of not telling you how much you **** and I don't. I'm leaving because I now realise what you never told me. it costs nothing to be happy.

lights in the sky fighting,
somewhere somebody's trying
to put out the fire

with bare hands and dying
breaths, in ways no one could
ever understand before

there's more to a painting
when you know how it ends

every stroke made in haste
and for no one else

where the world is made and
broken down for someone else

there must be more than life
if we could see into the distance

more than just colours trying
to ****** the mountains

the rivers that run and hide
from the preying atlas

deep into the forests helm
where the naked hide

rains that fill the oceans
before it's time

swallowing the sunsets deep
into its hallowed grave

where gouls fall in love with
wandering mermaids

how beautiful you must be
to reject the gods?

the very essence of what
it takes to beat a heart

is captured now in still water
and cascading waves

perhaps one day we could
swim carefree

into the same approaching
melancholy that has made a home
inside the swirling storms

the very winds that travel back
and forth across this planet

dwelling into nothingness and
so far away from everything else

maybe home isn't what keeps
us from the outside --

it is us playing make belief
on the porch

guarded by salt walls and lashing
tongues

the horrid stain on every artist's
desk

made in spirit of the restless and
the tormented

scattered words and memories
wrestling with dreams and thoughts

he who cannot speak might scream
the loudest

never judge a book by it's cover
even if it's on fire.

why do you push me away when all i want is to stay?

& then you tell me you need me when i'm so far away

why do you have to hurt me with all these games that you play?

can't you see i'm on my knees for you & a thousand times i've prayed

in a thousand different ways i've been loved & swayed

you sweep me off my feet and you spin me 'round for days

my mind is cluttered with everything that you never say

waiting for you to tell me it's gonna' be okay

why can't you just hold me and kiss the sad away?

& then you tell me you need me when i'm so far away

why do you push me away when all i want is to stay?

somedays i'm more scared
than       the  others

more susceptible to the
diseases of the mind

that lay their bare hands
on my chest and
                     weave it down

hammer on the uncertainty
of the coming morning

meld the steel that dangles
from the ceiling

waiting to pounce at any
suffocating moment of
                          failure and dread

in the dead of the night
when the sun awakens

and ever so suddenly
the moon burst into flames

have all the stars fall in a
fiery ball of madness

circling the streets sniffing
at the despair of the
                            crying children

perching on the threads of
looming crisis of faith and
                            all things miserable

the melancholy of which is
lost on the swaying trees and
                           the singing birds

that is all over the news in
small fine print

while an angry man on the TV screams at people for not paying attention

over and over
again and again; until
it is time for the magic
of make belief:

only if magic was a real thing
so many things would have been
possible

the kind that lives in your
head and prospers in your mind

the kind Charlie Kaufman
knows about.

underneath the skin
fish swim in circles

and all the words I've kept
have turned to Ash and
I've been keeping to myself

behind these four walls
there's no ceiling to climb
and my head won't stop bleeding

there are no feelings
in my piggy-bank

I've used all the change
and I'm still the same

every morning I wake up
thinking about you

and the life we could've
had, the life I could've had

but I couldn't do it to you
couldn't do it for you

maybe I deserve nothing
and that's why I keep myself
from jumping

running away forever
flying into the sunset

drowning
I need to go fishing.

while my head gently weeps
and my soul is awake

i find myself drifting
a length in time

and there's nothing that
i can do

but pass softly
onto the next moment

marked by days and
months of restless afternoons

breathless nights awake
smoking aimlessly

trying to recall your
fading face and

the things we used to
talk about for hours a
lifetime ago

how is that every sad
thought leads me back to
you ?

the ripe winds
perch upon the threads of
western disturbance

trading through the
vastness of liquid turmoil

flowing and cutting
across the narrowest
of vengeance

that has laid upon
this land flourishing
under a disguise:
of mere nothingness and
certain similarity;

for who knows
what converses with the
frigid north

and talks to the
passes of the mighty
peaks of middle Asia

walking past the grandeur
of the Himalayas, and it's
many ancient towns

where no other
has been of any importance
whatsoever

there in the sweet solace
of solitude and crisp sunrises

i find myself dreaming
of the tranquil winds, and
ancient passageways:

far from Nazareth and
the cradle of men

where the old brick
roads now sleep in dusk

and there's nothing
left to conquer

built upon the spectacular
-- on this olden earth

i find myself yearning
for little things.