An eccentricity
With meager complexity
And hell lot of sublimity.

saved me from a spell
a well of dark that crept through the sidelines
you wept what you felt
had yourself lost in the guidelines and lifelines

what was worse was the line
between good and evil I sought
I know even lines
and I taught you to crop them I thought

I almost thought that I was screaming but at least it should have been a safer place. I let my face seem like pig but my chest kept thinking that I was just having a sun diameter long run. It is true that my shirt smells like sweat but it was just delivered by my sweet but not tasty laundry aunt. I am sitting here, in front of me is the library. I try to respect my hunger by just admiring the stairs and thigh thick books from afar.

On the right side there are my schoolmates pretending to be a friend with this one gay guy, invisibly bullying but who cannot see it? I can feel insecurity bawling out of his nostrils and it fills the air with an intense reeking of headache and street lights sold cheap perfume. I think I should go back to my place and wash my hair until it smells like grass or something nice, like seawater or grandma's handkerchief.

I must pretend to be insane or else I am going to spend my life seeking for the top I do not want to step on.

There is no safe place at all. This is the safest I could find, but there are voices of people chatting and laughing and the smokes of their cigarettes and the sound of airplane and footsteps and life, and life, I even can hear the leaves beside me photosynthesizing. Send me home already.

On Wednesday my roommate does not have class and that means if I go back now I would find her sleeping on the desk with her eyeglasses on, or worse, I think I would find her studying her latin names of the animal bones and when I open the door she would greet me with her usual green smile and I would have to reply with at least half of her smile and now I already feel the balloon in my chest hugged too tightly by the ribs.

I should have taken another major instead. Maybe something like agriculture so I at least could be a use for the soil or to feed the worms. The people passing by seem to be looking through my skin. It's not my fault that they have to run to the toilet as fast as they can. At first I thought the sport festival was here. It was perfectly normal for them to be so much competitive.

The flushes sound exactly like this one neuron I got, or these split ends that have split ends that have split ends.

I am the only one inanimate here. My shoes speak German and I think they just want to go to an elegantly candlelit restaurant but all I can think of is a cave with blue and green mosses and cavemen with their torches. Only this square, blue thing with blinding pink font in my gray backpack tries to keep me safe. But I let it stay in the dark, and it was a right decision because I would not know what I would be if I had felt safe when a friend greeted me and asked what I was doing here.

Tell you the truth the ones in teen
There was a time I was your age
When I didn’t yield to the words’ din
Spent not the days pouring on page!

But passed hours in the nooks of noon
Smelling old books sniffing at dreams
Rode my wings to the diurnal moon
Never on page poured ink’s streams!

Fought many battles with enemy unseen
soared high up to the depth of sky
With ease painted the needed scene
Jotting them down I never did try!

I loved to love the girl next door
Though hadn't ever seen clearly her face
Imagined myself the princely amour
And she my heart’s pretty princess!

I spent much time in a world my own
On trails of mystery and missing link
Might have yearned inside a poet to be grown
I didn’t waste time staining paper with ink!

There’s a box I bolted my sorrow
But hear it knocking kicking to be out
I keep it telling I’ll free you tomorrow
His prison he will break one day no doubt!

For the box gets old and the lock grows rust
And sans my feeding sorrow isn’t any frail
Bides time in prison knowing one day must
It’s going to be free have me in its spell!

I write happy poems breed smiles as mate
Use all my ink to drown sorrow’s voice
But sorrow in silence goes spinning its net
I hear its cries rend sounds of joys!

There’s a box I bolted my sorrow
And would rather not worry when it breaks free
I’m more than happy it’s locked till tomorrow
written on the box to be cheered by daily!

This notebook and I share a secret,
which I will never reveal.

This notebook, on the other hand,
has at times sleighted me slightly.

This notebook is not to be trusted,
for if I trust it, I may be betrayed.

This notebook and I share a secret;
it will never be told lest I talk.