I'll try to create an image of this convex feeling.

It's imperfections on a perfect painting,
Or dull colours in the sky on a beautiful day,
Or roughly shaven, golden stubble, with a part too long.

It's the sound of loneliness in a room full of extroverts,
A fire alarm blaring through a heavy metal concert.

The taste of strepsil.

Can't I decay while I progress? I want to go somewhere, and I know where, I'm helpless, since I know how to help myself, but don't want or need.

Every day is winter,
Cold, but inside its warm.

I like sitting by my fireplace,
It's tucked away where nobody else can see.

Sometimes it burns.

Do you hear the sound of all these poems,
Of heartbroken girls,
Of pained, tormented men,
That love or hate their swollen, melancholic voices.

Can you hear words, too many words that mean the same thing,
Again and again, ricocheting a message,
In person, singing the same song that everyone sings,
Or even carefully thought out words that ring to everyone who wrote it too.

Ingenuity is precious but so subjective,
But equally subjective to everyone,
Clarity sounds nice.

It sometimes hurts to think of everything at once,
So that when it comes out it is so simple.

Ingenuity can exist with clarity, but rarely does.

This isn't the sound of love,
Or pain, or washed up loneliness,
Or chalk being disintegrated across a board of nails.
Have you heard the silence of emptiness,
Well, almost emptiness, not enough not to write a poem.
Not of despair, but of emptiness.
It's easy not to know where to go, but once you have fixed everything,
What happens?
Do you stay, or go, or dissociate.
The choice is yours.

Life is catching up.

All those suppressed problems are
Bleeding into reality
So they can't be hidden anymore.

Force boiling water onto your head
And acknowledge change
Without altering yourself

It is hard, that's agreed,

Walking away is easier because
It's like you are revving
And your paint is being scratched off with a key.

I know you'll drive into a wall again,

Wanting everything hard to get, but
Come on, at least try to accept for now.
But don't melt into anyone's viewpoint too easily because

Perspective is corrupt.

Even the brightest of people
Could deface the most beautiful words
If they had just ****** themselves laughing -

It depends where you look.
But for sure, wherever you are
If you look behi-

Life is catching up.

And when it does, you'll  be

Slapped
By the absurdity of reality
And you might understand it.

Why pity the fool
when he is free from thought?
Because he tried to look cool by writing a 3 line poem.