Staring at chandeliers.
When my life once was a hollow valley. Nostalgia is not what it used to be.

I can smell your touch, through the cigarette smoke.
I can hear your thoughts through this party of souls.

Sometimes I feel as though I want to breach my soul separating, it into pieces so I can
search each piece for the clues of significant meaning.

Incarcerating my emotions.
I do not give them feet to walk out of my mouth or body language.

Forget how to breathe.
Once beneath  such depths of thought, how would it be possible to circulate breath?

Controversial speech.
Stay calm while I caress your hair of dissonance.

Dream of Life
Watching life as I lean against the wall.

Zen
Everything within me is untitled.
It was not meant to be understood.

The End
This place is not my home.
I can’t take this or anything with me, but I will see You.