Hold my glass
Even if it is my third, sixth time whatever to take the mic
I feel a catharsis coming up
Why people need to take away my one and only guilty pleasure
What is wrong with reading
And writing tales in my phone?
Do you think I do not learn anything from them?
Not all writings are fruitless
I am better than people who uses chapels as an internet cafe
They scroll mindlessly in their news feeds
Pardon your brainless child, God
But I find chapels peaceful
Your presence alone sings with tranquility
And when it does, countless thoughts form in my head
I cannot sleep in day nor night as long as I do something about them
So with my fingers, I type
So with my pen, I dance
Even if I sound like a kid who rants a lot in the internet
Even if I am still immature for the matures
Even if I am still a novice to this billion-year old planet
Even if I am perturbed in whether publishing them or not
But to facticity
When I was a mere seedling
I am always obscured
I did not lend my mouth to those who are in my age and even out of age that I find low-leveled to me
I have no one to talk to but myself
At least that is what my ghost processed
I am not good at anything except for swordfighting
It helped me unleash the monsters I have been not willing to let anyone see
I am already abused for having a distorted mentality
Now I am being abused by distorted reality
Oh, am I haughty yet?
Pardon my noisy, sleepless mind
That will not let me speak out loud
If you disgrace reading, try slowly, little by little first
I am telling you, it is a nice picturesque to be in
Paint your own scenery
Contemplate the unheard
Dance with any melodies of art
Even if it is not by a stylus
So tell me, why do I deserve that preaching
When there are worse than me
Have I done something to wreck your life
Have I done a huge, lawless crime
When I am just sitting through the Holy silence with a book in my mind