My head feels like it's constantly on a marathon trying to get to first place, trying to make sense of what's left tangible, the tiniest bit perceivable. I like to try to murmur to my right ear the sweet nothings in which I never even believe-no matter the extent I've dug deep because everything there is in this fragile chest of mine are hundreds of wailing ghosts I have no capability of releasing.

And, I hate it.

adhesion of water on the glass
in the car it feels foreign
maybe delusional is the mind
to think and think constantly
stare at it longingly
then it will be undone

as bare the body
as bold the head
i rub in circles
try and try the melancholic hums
to no avail it numbs
not the left hand
nor is the right hand
thus the chest screams
in silence

round and round the wheels of the car
travel the echo to an empty space
there is no instance to mask
the lines on the skin

expectations and assumptions
you and i
we had it all

why am i here?
i said as i clutched onto my books
indecisively struggling
it is a common event that i never anticipate
must have been the invisible weight that i carry on my shoulders
or the sleep that I'm deprived of

it is easy to speak and make a fuss
but difficult to ignore the voices that echo in our heads

it is all too concentrated
i feel suffocated
but i still keep the noose on
and drag around my own being
in these places
it is like play pretend
and i am the impostor

it was them
who preferred the mask
confusion was the one who got lost
in what it thought to be a playground

i am still strangled by the noose
as i continue to lose
surrounding my neck for its pleasure
and i stay here
blankly staring at the wall
of memories

faint voices
caused by the exaggerating colors
we remain afar
rhetorically living with the past
it has gone too tight
we can not let go

metaphorically or ironically
we are walking on shards of glasses
our sense of logic is fading
just like our companions
they promised loyalty
we returned the favor
consequently we receive nothing

frowns and upside downs
we have them
predictions and probabilities
they are not accurate
we depend on them
why is that?

nothing makes sense
we are all clouds
surrounded by an ocean
of unfinished priorities
cheerful conclusions
can not be guaranteed
as we are after all
imperfectly different
hoping to hear of
the victorious bell

everything seems so plain, dull, almost lifeless
all I see are preoccupied shells
not a single soul listens
so I sit here
with this brush in hand,
ready to dash
and I take off the scarf to adjust

all I am is a creature walking on shards of glass, hoping to find a new path instead of the crooked bridge I’ve tried to fix

Take a moment to imagine what peace could bring
A bountiful future, loyal companions and a dash of rainbow
Perfectly structured, don't you think?
Let's take this further
Glance at the one sitting next to you
What do you see?

A grey, demented mist of acquiescence enveloped its upper body
You watch that selfish shadow take over and now
As you talk to the shadow
Asking for a reassuring nod
What do you see?

An odd grin, you see
The shadow is oblivious and responds to the strange smile
Of a sinister clown
The clown takes the shadow
Placing its yellow smudged hand
On the oblivious shadow
Soon, you'll see

The shadow is gone
The clown is not grinning
It has a scarf, a blue scarf
Surrounding its neck
Blank background and colors are whispering
There is a moment of regret and fear

As if the scarf was not rude enough
A glimmering knife joined the party
The clown held the knife tightly
But, what type of scene can your eyes see?

A struggling tear escapes the eye of the clown
Pointless, it was
He now walks to the stage along with the scarf
On the stage, the shadow cried
Your eyes can't help and so you wonder
Indeed, the knife was no more

It is a basic question humans ask each other on a daily basis.

"How are you?"

Never have I ever seen the truth come out of their lips. Although, how could I tell? Maybe it is the fidgety hands or just the bounce they performed. Now, I'm describing myself. Aren't I?

If you ask me that question, I can hardly say "I'm fine" without having to take a deep breath and my throat would try to reach for that one glass of water, making a simple interaction a hundred times peculiar than it should be.

My throat stays dry for another two years or so.

It has been four years since my very first unconvincing "I'm fine"

I wonder when would be the right time to confess about this. Perhaps, I don't have to. I made my mother worried once I had my "first" panic attack. I can not exactly say that was the first one but my family hasn't really done anything about the lines on my skin.

Well, mom asked me about it. She pointed at it and said, "What is that?"
And then, I got annoyed and threw the topic back on to the shelves, hoping she had noticed something is not right.

It is not that I want my mother to feel bad. I'd never want for the woman who was blessed to have had the surgery of her cancer cells cancelled to frown. Why blessed, you ask? The thing is the first ultra sound was a gold digging snob. Blunt but true. Without the second option of a decent kind, I wouldn't be writing this.

I would have never got the chance to listen to music.

Hence, yes I'm fine.

pick me up

i drag my corpse once again

back to the ground

gravity, why are you greedy?

hay and lilac grass

i want to sleep peacefully

to put it bluntly

i crash and sleep

momentum shifts and careless lips

put me back to where

the child plays with vehicles

ramble about the past tense

i wish i wish i could have

i should have

butter bitter better borrow blunders

i am sailing

no not the sea because the sea

it is where i instead of floating

the sea is where i choke suffocate

my hands hoping pleading

for that sweet gulp of oxygen but

i drown

i always drown

and it is not gravity at fault

i am at fault for my own tragedies

so i'm sorry gravity

please forgive my existence

take my short term breaths

and bring me back to the ground

that is where i belong

the dust filled pavements

compared to a sea

where the ground is non-existent

for my desperate feet to lay or stand on