This was going to be a message to the masses,
This was supposed to be for those who needed it.
But the voice in my head reminds me the eyes will never find these words,
It screams out they wouldn't care even if they did.

I wish to trade the hallow people,
Give my shoes for theirs.
But when I see the feet are bare,
I use words to cut off mine.

The nerves surface,
the ideas pour out,
and I am fascinated by you,
as though I am not one of you.

So I write in order to reach out,
I write in order to connect.
These words are created to express,
Screaming ironies I do not see myself.

This was going to be a message to the masses,
Except now it's a message to me.
My lines are crossed now that I've moved on,
And so I pretend that this end sets me free