it's not what it looks like
no, i promise
it's not what it looks like
less of my relationship with gravity
and more how i occupy reality

and then it hit me,
he's going to marry a girl
they're going to cuddle on the sofa
watching scary movies until 3am
while she falls asleep in his arms
they'll go on cute dates
and holidays in the sun together
he's going to tell her that he loves her
they're going to have kids
and wave them off to school one day
they're going to happily grow old together
and that girl wont be me

let me tell you about a kid I used to know
he always thought it was his time to go
up up and away to a place he didn't even understand
but he knew it was better than his own land

because all the other kids
we're too busy making jokes
to realize the one kid who needed love the most
the one kid that walked home alone
caught his breath as he looked down at his phone
to an empty screen
no texts, no calls
he just wanted to have it all, you see -

you can't force happiness on someone who's depressed
you can't make him wake up, get ready and dressed
just to send him to a school where he stands by himself
he tucks his work of art under a shelf

embarrassed by what he has done
he weeps as he wonders what his dad would've thought of his son
he looks to the sky hoping dads watching down
but the moment is ruined with a loud sound

his mother yells
her voice compelling his sorrows
he apologizes for being a mistake
but really she's the one whos been fake
as she beats him on the head
he falls to his bed
and falls deeply into a sleep he won't remember

because of all the drugs
he feels his dad start to tug him
from down below
to up above

and as his wrists start to bleed
he begins to read the suicide note he has written
and as he stares at the sky
he says his last goodbyes
to a place he has made clear of good riddance

When the
mess bred
by ancient
logicians
is put to rest
and we dicover:
The chicken
and the egg
hatched
in two
different
places at
the same time;
Love was
an inverse
relationship
between lust
and time;
Infinity was
a universe
we couldn't see.

Will conversation
cease?

Will silence
replace
speech?

Will the larynx
become a vestige?

How will
we debate
the notes
that compose
silence?