I see the best minds of my generation,
destroyed by unrequited admiration.

All my friends have turned green.
The worst case of madness that I have ever seen.

With a hollow eye, iridescent glow
of infinite expendable information.

You are you.
You care about the little things;
About money and status,
About love and power.
You care about right now.
And about nothing more
     But there is so much more to see.

Take a step back
Now you are human.
Your place in society is precious.
You, just as everyone else, are worth something .
You care about justice,
About the state of your world
And it hurts you
     But you know you suffer less than others.

Take another step back
You are a body.
Your presence is replaceable and unfelt.
Your days are spent seeking pleasure and pain.
You live only to feel alive
Knowing that you’ll soon be dust blowing in the wind
And it makes you feel temporary
     But you last longer than you know.

On your last step back
You are a soul.
You feel no pain nor pity- nothing at all
You live in sickly silent peace
As you float aimlessly through time.
You are a piece of the universe
Hoping that the clocks will stop some day
And you will be called to rest
     But your piece in this universe will never die.

You are so much more than your shell.
You are the past, the present and the future
Embodied in a distracted human being.
You are every fibre of the universe that has created you.
You are eternal yet temporary
And it’s confusingly simple
     But you won’t realize your worth unless you *step back.

I’m back in my same chair again
and still I study the leaves
and meditate what they mean.
If everyone says the same, doesn't it mean it’s true?
What if the planet is telling me this one thing
and each and every star is echoing the same thing,
so it must be true and then it must be fact.
That means something.

I felt every second and every minute of each hour,
and you can’t even imagine the boredom at the bottom of my stomach;
patch me up and fill me up with something worthy.
Ain’t that somethin’ real?
If everyone says so and it’s worthy of my time,
ain’t it real?

But isn’t that something true to me?
The view, the raw feeling it gives me inside.
The itch I can’t reach and the gnawing inside my stomach,
And the fact that I can’t grasp what I need and it kills me;
And now I’m disturbed and I’m sick and I can’t figure out.
What is this bothering me? Is this something for me?
Tailored, sewn, and pressed for me?

I end my night on my roof,
the stars at my fingertips and the moon as my pillow;
the moon soaking me with a cleansing glow;
the shower up here felt so amazing.
There’s nothing like this type of view.

Back at the shore, on my own this time,
I'm free now, yes, but alone.
I'm left with nothing,
No pain,
No rhyme,
On a beach less sand than stone.


The tide still licks the shore for crumbs,
But nothing hides beneath.
No voice calls out in dark, feigned scorn,
No stoic secretly cries for release.


The world outside worked magic for real,
It promised us strength in identity,
But now I'm just beginning to feel,
There's actually something wrong with me.


I can't go back until I know,
That your death has served some purpose.
What chance is there, to survive and grow,
When even ghosts can hurt us?


"Perhaps", I said, "it's all unspoken", aloud,
To myself, discovering,
How words can wound but silence drowned,
A heart that's still recovering.