I think that I might've been wrong this whole time
and that all my life's been an endless road of false imagery
about myself and the ones surrounding me.

Everyone's sayin' these days:
"just do your thing!"
"be more egotistic!"
"risk it!"
"live a little!"
"give less ***** about what others think!"
"you're on your own!"
"don't get involved in other's lives, as they don't get involved in yours"
and I seem more and more confused,
not getting any of the words they're sayin';
feeling silly all of a sudden...
like I imagine some people in those pictures
or videos where they put a black box over someone's eyes.

I feel like I've been livin' as a small,
odorless flower in a big garden,
all a long waiting for the right gardener
to thin out the seedlings around me and now
I've ended up alone in the most beautiful vase,
in the house of the most gifted perfume creator,
that normally feels every bird ****,
but now feels nothing.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3zGRQsYZE7U

i feel sick
but not the kind of throw up sick
the type of sick that never goes away
no matter how many times you try to close your eyes and sleep it away
no amount of sleep can heal you
because whenever you awake you'll be just as sick as before
with constant feeling of uncertainty and pain

i am my own cancer
as tasteless as it may be
im eating myself away
moving throughout my body
at a record pace
im killing myself
slowly but surely, every single day

sometimes, i have this desire,
or maybe a wish
(i can't tell you the difference),
of one day.
one day that might never happen,
or ever become reality,
since its so out of the bounds of it.
after a long day of something,
or nothing, or everything,
i'll fall asleep
clinging to the darkness of my mind
and the dreams that pull me to bed.
then, i'll wake up
somewhere different as someone different.
as though what and how i've lived
has only been imagination,
something i conjured up for fun.
i don't know what that says about me
to imagine such a dream,
or wish for such a day,
but i guess my wishes are different than most.

i hate to break it like this, it's not a metaphor's worth of sentence that could become a riddle: it's not exactly a - why is a raven like w riting desk? because you're hunched, sitting over it, and scribbling with a pen, like a raven might with its claw(s)?

i wish i could make the following observation into a similar
riddle, but i can't, simply because it's too obvious...
      what bird, could possibly be a far removed cousin
                          of a sparrow?
                                i have two families of sparrows building
nests just outside my window...
                       so i notice the fidget and the "anxiety" of their
little bodies...
                       but the link is in their tails...
  the tails aren't exactly like flowers blooming in spring,
opening like a peacock's tail for courtship...
               nor like the raven's tail... nor like woodland pigeons' tail...
they're sharp, pointy... never unfolding,
           simply because the sparrows are little spitfires...
they require a sharp tail that doesn't unfold, for greater speed,
  like a shark's fin...
                         the natural aerodynamic addition to their little bodies...
so who could possibly be the sparrows' cousin?
             answer?              *magpies!
and because of the longer sharp tail that doesn't unfold,
                                   like the sparrows,
i dare say, i'll call magpies the aero resemblance to the their aqua
       cousins that are, stingrays.
come on... we've differentiated far enough,
        poetry can't differentiate... the "only" thing poetry can
do is integrate... to make language, so dismembered: a whole;
doubly stressed: it's about making associations...
             not about making dissociations...
                         so yeah... sparrows... magpies... stingrays.

Tonight, I don't feel classy,
so put away the fine glasses,
and bring me a plastic cup and a bottle of your worst wine.

Then, leave me alone.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5Ls8-pk4IS4