Song of the nightingale
Mixes my ginger ale
Sink faucet water drops
Mirror props
No one to cuddle in these idle hours
My esteem tastes sour
My heart, it shrank
My eyes, they sank
In this frigid dark
It is not pain
It is not lame
View these as plain
For me, I feel like I am to be blamed
How to mouth an emotion
When my mind is not in motion
My body in supine position
****** my heart strings
Can you still hear them tugging, running
Because I cannot
My ears must be deafened by the waves
The only sound right now is the metronome in the monochrome
My silhouette dancing in this lone haze
Touch me, I fracture
How to not be unfazed
When I am born with a daze
Do I still remember the days
When I do not wake up in this blank  gaze
Bypass me as a slate
Think until I used up space
Draws my face
Even when there are a lot swimming this way
I am faltering, fading away
In these invisible blows
That keep getting close
When I want them to be far away
Yet the holes are nowhere
Yet the roots are null
Dew's breath caress through my skull
In what way to lull
Who knows
What tomorrow holds
For I am idling in hours

Hold my glass
Even if it is my third, sixth time whatever to take the mic
I feel a catharsis coming up
Why people need to take away my one and only guilty pleasure
What is wrong with reading
And writing tales in my phone?
Do you think I do not learn anything from them?
Not all writings are fruitless
I am better than people who uses chapels as an internet cafe
They scroll mindlessly in their news feeds
Pardon your brainless child, God
But I find chapels peaceful
Your presence alone sings with tranquility
And when it does, countless thoughts form in my head
I cannot sleep in day nor night as long as I do something about them
So with my fingers, I type
So with my pen, I dance
Even if I sound like a kid who rants a lot in the internet
Even if I am still immature for the matures
Even if I am still a novice to this billion-year old planet
Even if I am perturbed in whether publishing them or not
But to facticity
When I was a mere seedling
I am always obscured
I did not lend my mouth to those who are in my age and even out of age that I find low-leveled to me
I have no one to talk to but myself
At least that is what my ghost processed
I am not good at anything except for swordfighting
It helped me unleash the monsters I have been not willing to let anyone see
I am already abused for having a distorted mentality
Now I am being abused by distorted reality
Oh, am I haughty yet?
Pardon my noisy, sleepless mind
That will not let me speak out loud
If you disgrace reading, try slowly, little by little first
I am telling you, it is a nice picturesque to be in
Paint your own scenery
Contemplate the unheard
Dance with any melodies of art
Even if it is not by a stylus
So tell me, why do I deserve that preaching
When there are worse than me
Have I done something to wreck your life
Have I done a huge, lawless crime
When I am just sitting through the Holy silence with a book in my mind

Once there was a lass
Planted into a mysterious world
Does not know where to go, how to go
Three lights later, she was found
But it is not the kind of found she desires
Is there even a reason of existence
You want her to question about her sanity
Question about impossibility
Question what is underneath
Question what is on the other side
Do you think to look smart
Or do you think because you want to be mentally deranged
Does being a product mean,
To look unique, to look you know a lot more than anyone
Because insane is the new gain
Insane is the pain
Insanity is my oxygen
Does this look art to you
Just simply spilling her emotions and rants
But in reality she done nothing
So how come you label her as a product?
Everyday, questioned herself if she is even of worth
No matter where angles of skies she looked at , no answers burst
If she was born to be secluded
Does that mean she is out of this world
If she thinks differently
Does she have to change the world?
Should she be drowned in the pills of schizophrenia
To define what real art is?
To defy reality?
Is this enough
If not, then what am I
If not a product, then what
I disgrace sycophants and know-it-alls alike
Except for lucid and heavy dreamers for life
Are we bore to create a fantasy
Or altogether fall with this society
Does living in nomothethic oceans is a mistake
Talk about limitless yet senseful imagery
Chatter away with debates that activate logic which I do not have
What is more likely to balance
When there is a whole solar system to laugh at you
No, I should see more light
But what light shall I find
I do not know what is the real definition of every little thing
But I worry and think of them
They say it is the beauty
What beauty
Underneath or above
Which one did you admire first?
Do I have to question my faith
Do I have to question everything around me
Should I speak like Shakespeare
Should I speak colorful in my own language  than the language that became my mother's tongue
Should I write like an endless dictionary and a multi-faced human
Should I count every star accurately until the fall wither me
Or produce sounds alive like the city of owls
Should I make every human being smile when I cannot smile myself
Should I feel nothing but sadness for eternity
To pity me when I weave with words
Should I play like Arima
Should I paint like a museum artist
Just to call me a talent
Should I perfect my skills of every labor
Should success appear to me like magic
Should I explain the unexplainable
Or should I damage my cerebrum
Before I truly feel intelligent
Should I dance my life away like the Black Swan
Should I be tearing down politicians and teachers
Just to feel worthy
Just to be recognized in the light I desire
Or should I just look in the mirror
To check if my blood veins are still flowing
Real blood, not just veins of vain
Inhaling all the smoke of envy
I sin
I am flawful
I breathe in gold
Just to realize it is old
Just to realize my self-redeement is stone cold
Will you love and be deserved by light like that
Will you realize everyone who reads this has been ugly as well
Will you realize I am not writing about myself
But what we are all afraid to admit the most
Because you are only a person
And once there was an abnormal lass

What if I like what is underneath
Flocks these days admire on what is in the cover
Tainted and glittered nails
But what if I rip the skin off and study the parts of it?
That way I can admire the beauty of having such a body part
Glitzy notebooks are a thing
When I can have a notebook with just a mere dot as a design
That way no one will be able to steal them
Because I am the only who knows the beauty of it
Everyone dances to the music they heard of
While I am just here listening to non-existent sounds
Everybody befriends the charismatic person in the room
But what if I like distorted overgrowns
Even when he shot daggers
Talks to himself and paints the world as if he owns it?
Tell me what is good taste
When it is there surrounding me
Your eyes just do not switch to an owl's yet
Isn't life full of hidden kalopsa?
Even if I still do not have William's tongue to describe them?
When you are at your worst
I may not help you instantly
Since I cannot help but be mesmerized by your mistakes
You are even more beautiful to me when the side you hide the most flourish
Even when everybody in this world hates you,
I will find colors in your imperfections
I will burst in laughter at them, not because you are foolish
But you had the courage to show your real persona
Everybody has different ideas for beauty
But this is mine
Like this poem
You thought this is going to be pretty
When I like what is underneath