I do not know what I am feeling,
I do not know what I am feeling,
but I feel like an abandoned
collector's case left in a corner
to rot or do as I please without
so much but the guidance of the wind.

But the wind is not stable
and therefore neither am I,
I cannot tell whether I'm
imagining this all or
seeing it with my very eyes.
Reality and fantasy have
merged into one and
I can no longer tell the difference
between a dream or everyone's nightmare;
I die in both.

I do not know what I am feeling,
I do not know what I am feeling,
but if my soul's exterior had any texture,
right now it'd be peeling;
no it is not beautiful and it
cannot make fake roses
like an orange peel might.
There are no flowers here,
only a garden of late nights and tears.

Outside, spring is evolving
Inside, my lungs are decomposing.
I do not know what I am feeling,
I do not know what I am feeling,
but I feel like an abandoned collector's
case left in a corner;
I am a case long closed ,
given up on and
I am collecting dust.