I feel trapped
Though I'm not
I'm free as a bird
Soon to be shot

I can't breathe
It seems I'm trapped
Yet there's no latch
That I can clasp

Invisible forces
Cage me still
I am free
But not from myself.

They think I write because I'm feeling emotional.
Dear me.
I wish I was emotional.
But it's the opposite, really.
I write because I feel nothing.
And feeling nothing means feeling a dull thirst.
I thirst for productivity.
I thirst for activity.
I thirst for the passion long gone.

So I wring my hollow heart out
for any inspiration
and whatever drips from it
I maximize fully,
What little gasoline remains from it I use extensively.
I strike a match
and burn everything
as much as I can,
Because I know it's nonrenewable
And I have to hoard ideas from it while stocks last, use it until the embers burn out.

It's easy to write about the immediate things in your mind,
the things lingering in your mind's eye,
the things crossing on your pedestrian eyebrows,
the things that hover just beyond your peripheral vision,
the things that are to be blamed when people comment on your
"distracted look"...

It's so easy to write about them all and it's in times like this when I'm so thoughtless that I want to get those trivial things back-


My thoughts, that is.

it's nothing now but a
lingering scent
of the cologne I used to wear
as a child, running wild
with my only friend
in some Catholic school...

I want to wallow in
the deep red ***** of self-hatred
not mainly because I want to
but because I've got no choice anyway.
It's comforting warmth has been
my safe space in this world
full of polite people demanding you to stop being so naked, to cover ****** parts of you with thin white suffocating *******-
I'm going crazy my works don't make any sense anymore.

I also want to write poetry
when im happy;
to arrest the moment
with a pen and paper
and make the ephemeral eternal...

to catch the moment mid-laugh
and preserve it in some
oxygen-tight glassbox,
for me to look at it like a tourist would
in a museum-
whenever i feel like an unhappy phantom
on this sad sad world..

depression isn't beautiful.
it's so **** ugly
that it checks its reflection on the mirror
from time to time
to make sure that the cheap make-up
holds up;
so that no one would notice,
no one would bat an eye
on its ugly and pathetic visage...