I’m a person; whilst riding the bicycle of my dreams;
Floating and drowning in a deep blue ocean;
I cannot breathe;
My words don’t mean a thing to people who do not speak;
I’m not an eloquent speaker;
I mostly find a way to escape;
I do not want to face people;
Palm by palm as I sweat fear;
Are these thoughts too personal?
A question slightly beheading me;
Are these thoughts a legend, perhaps a theory;
A paradise lost;
I, I want to become a poet;
I’m a colorful; grey person;
I do not share and intend to laugh with people;
But I inhibit people’s life;
I shred myself to empower their thoughts;
I do not sound worthy;
My thoughts are too poisonous;
I might die;
I soon become the air I breathe;
I’m strangled by my own demons;
I’m too vague;
I stand at the pit of my insanity;
Dreaming of violence once created by me;
These rambling words;
Goes on and on;
But these words are not yours