being
a good person
when you don't want to be
good
is easier
than being mean
even though
your blood is
boiling

When I woke up, groggy from the previous mind adventure, I knew I was still deep in slumber.
Dying to unveil what satisfies my deepest questions. How do I get out of this labyrinth? A pilgrim with nothing to hold on to. Not so sure.
My very own sanity is a hurricane. Severely obsessing over the slightest bit of your imperfections. Don’t you know my heart hurtled? When you called my name?  It rode a space shuttle, plummeting in loops when you tease me with those sweet little things of yours. It was ultimately extreme. It screamed. Screamed so wildly because it wants to stop and at the same time, it feels so high that it could reach the seventh heaven. Now, does it please you to see me struggle? You win.
I wander the insides of this hideous monster and wonder what it’s like to be outside. In the real world. Maybe this is the door to something, something  cinematic and magical. Maybe things would be rough before it goes smooth and velvety. Yeah maybe. I forced myself to believe.
I have made several attempts for a sweet escape but every fugging time, I am always lured to come back and get trapped again.
Your presence is an intertwining intoxication and remedy. Maybe, I shall get you arrested from making me suffer from an euphoria that you hit and ran. Or maybe not because I enjoyed it in some way. Your sadistic crime brought me so much damage that my brain rejected to function properly.
Now I’m feeding on pure delusions that I could still recover and get back safe. Safe into paradise that I initially think you were. It’s like thinking that you’re taking the right path to heaven and suddenly it gets darker, uglier and before you know it you’re about to experience hell. Hell inside a maze.
“Please wake me up. His pull held me captive so tight.” A voice echoed with a blur.
I can’t grasp whose is it. Ever since I came here, I hardly recognize who I am.

I put up the
   tree and my
  little hands
ached-
I'm not old,
I'm hardly twenty-
six

I've worked so
hard
my hands still
can't handle
loneliness
  and sticks.

Here's the thing
At this young point in my life
I do not matter that much
Because there are no dollar signs next to my name
And that cannot change
Until others step up
So desiring it to change
And it reminds me
Of how very alone I am
In this career of mine
That I have chosen
And I will be a master
Of what I know I was meant to do
Whether it matters
To you or you.

My heartbeat scares me,
It's keeping me awake.
I feel it thumping inside me,
I can hear it in my brain.

Maybe I'm just sick,
Or maybe I'm insane.
Maybe I'm losing it,
Or just feeling strange...

At times like these,
I wish I were home.