I left the good ones in the bag that I packed and left with a long time ago blinded by expressionism and confessionalism a portrait hung on my wall for so long I dream in blue and earthy scents of that little space between hinder and breath society placed a big burden upon my chest it whispers so many funny and true things dire to my belief of originality and being specific in the things I do mind like thin lines overlapping in many different hues I have grown ill in thought of the ordinary people you see me as flawed hurt and stupid and I see you as plain boring and mediorce eyes trail downwards about my sincere actions and sometimes I must hold my tongue being that envious eyes would like to eat a lung my manner gentle and discreet Im am nothing near the definition of obsolete and I accept it as I accept that nothing will ever with misuse be complete and in a heartbeat I retreat to that creature who beside me is petite as I am feathers of beauty brush against the slowly moving winds on my shore and I go back and wonder why everything so quickly turns into nothing descending tons of gore and then fragility comes back to its place sits on the front of my hands like a serence masterpeice reminding me who I am and leaves me permanently marked with a gray smile