Tell me the things that didn't make sense.
Is it the way that I talk when we were together at pitch black mornings?
Was it the things that you read on my notebook telling my demons to stay away?
Could it be the hunger that I felt when I had to worry that my dreams is nothing but based on false victory?
Maybe it was the silence that I gave when life threw me back where I first started?

Tell me how it should make sense.
Must I always run to chase greatness?
I could try and sit properly with the obstacles as my seat, and I tried writing differently, but my pen broke a million pieces to show me that my sadness is incurable.
Should I be looking at the dark to approach love as if driving my car will reach a destination?

Tell me things that would make sense.
Is paradise only achieved when kindness broke down my heart to show me how it can shatter the tallest walls that I could ever create with my bare hands?
That grief gave me maturity at 4AMs to tell me that, when sunrise comes I will be unbearable.
That the war I have been on to, has given me nothing but sharp bullets shot through the back of my skull just for me to see how I will bleed.

Many times, I can only ask what things that would make sense.
Living in this cruel world, has only invaded my reality with foreseen tales of triumph and conquered mountains that I will never reach.