the ruins of the city are too much for my poetry to sink in,
i've dwelled in rational emotions and irritations of love,  in

all my verses,
all my pauses,
all my annotations;

the ruins of the city are too little for my emotions,
the regular of love and unhappiness doesn't bubble my words anymore
the humble repeating people stopped pleasing, for
the rubble of first glimpse that i've caught

why would the moon love me?
i don't burn for her,
i don't let my guard down for her,
i don't pray for her;

i envy her,
i despise her;

i might be a lot of things said, but
i am conflicting above all the things unsaid,
let's start there;

this wave of sadness hit me now,
no-where seemes a happy place to be now

it hurts to breathe,
it hurts to listen,
it hurts to speak,
it hurts...
it just hurts to exist

its not an even experience
it neither is overwhelming

i feel all these emotions bubbling
but nothing seems to leave me

no drab
no tear

no grab
no fear


i'm free and lonely
i'm free and hurt
i'm free and non-existent

i'm happy to be free and
unhappy when i'm here

i'm free and many things,
many things but happy.

he waltz in the room
she waited for him
she was a harlot;
he was her redemption.

in all the delusions and
all the illusions
lies the unknown.

he waltz in the room
she waited for him
she was a harlot;
he was her redemption.