Way 1:

I am
afraid
of changing.
For the unknown,
I know
a ghost
of living.
Without time
I am not aware,
why I am here.

Way 2:

I am
A ghost
Afraid
Of living.
Of changing
without time.
For the unknown
I am not aware.
I know
why I am here.

It could be
If you would allow it.
That mural of fantasy
Running along the lazy arms
Of this day’s familiar clock.

It could be
If you would allow it.
The precious musings
Of that mind, so unoccupied
By the safety of this routine

It could be
If you would allow it.
A failure in a beautiful place
Or even a tragedy,
Altogether fruitless

But until then-
This is.
You allow it.

There is a power
  In the slightest smirk
At the dour face
  Of the reapers work

A hopeless joy
  That can't be crushed
Or ripped apart
   By vicious rush

With that seed
   In soil- defeat
Sprouts ropey vine,
   Humanity.

And so it goes
   Until the end
This bitter fight
   Of death and men.

The world has no
Negative numbers.
Things just add up,
or multiply
Until they're inevitably
Written over.

We know this,
Late at night
Hoping for a
Take back.

I could've been anything.
I was so sure of it
before I knew the first thing
about myself.

I could've done it all -
with time to spare

Left the mundane
somewhere near the start
so I would know if I was
walking in circles.

I could've written
my story,
now it seems
I'm no longer
the author.

I just have to look
at you
to feel it.

To know it
I have to look
away.

Like the pages
of a book
mid-tornado,

Fragments of
information, the pieces
all out of place.

Still,

I believe you
beg to be
read.

This is tiresome

The thrashing energy
The struggling concepts of
This interior and that exterior

The back and forth,
The up all night but
Still dreaming

The "am I crazy?",
The hopeless spirals
That circle and drain into
The soil, and plant
The "It's gonna be ok"
That sprouts a new day