You are art

To be

Art

To me.

Mirror mirror on the wall,
who is the falsest of them all?

It seems to be,
it must be me.

I believe
deep down
I am a bad person

It just so happens to be
that the mask
I am wearing
has a good face
and seems to be covering up
my true bad self
somewhat well

Yet,
if I don't take care and watch out
it might crack
and
blow my cover

Über mein verlorenes Selbst.
Der tiefe Schmerz, das dieses 'Ich' für immer
in der Vergangenheit gefangen ist.
Denn die Zeit ist heimlich vergangen
und hat den Schlüssel mit sich genommen.
Aufnimmerwiedersehen.


Sadness
Over my lost self.
The deep pain
this 'Me' will forever be captivated
in the past.
As time has secretly passed
and with it,
it has taken the key.
Farewell.

I can't stand
            them
            you
            me.
They took away
the ground
I was
standing on.
                                 What am I
                                  supposed to
                                  rest on?

Seemed relief.
Let in the belief,
I'd be in control.

Hasty find,
the foxhole.

Too much. Stimuli.  
The voices. The sounds. The smells. The people. The eyes. The looks. The energy. The words. The preaches. The beliefs. The calls. The gestures. The monologues. The appointments. The requirements. The social norms. The values. The money. The rules. The expectations. The phones. The computers. The letters. The texts. The tasks. The duties. The online world. The offline world. The news. The fake news. The media. The cars. The cyclists. The trains. The planes. The traffic. The food. The drinks. The wind. The sun. The cold. The heat. The rain. The worries. The hope. The plans. The memories. The images in my head. The voices in my head. The heart stings. The cramps. The aching. The shivering. The sweating. The pain. The passing. The change. The rhythm. The routine. The hate. The love. The lies. The truth. The spending. The pretending. With no ending.
Too many people. Too many things. Too many sounds. Too many visuals. Too many thoughts. Too many feelings. Too many notions.
Too many.
Too much.
To take.
No more.

I am constantly
on the wait
on the search
for that
something
someone
sometime
that will
make me feel better
that will finally
make me happy
for good
but I am sick
sick of
the wait
what if
that
something
someone
sometime
won't come
around
and I will be stuck here
forever
between things
between people
between times
never arriving
where I want to be
because I am waiting
for the wrong
people
in the wrong
things
at the wrong
places
to the wrong
times

                                            forever waiting
                                            forever searching
                                            forever stuck
                                            forever lost

They crave more
        demand
constantly unfulfilled
never enough

And so I cave

restless
disconnected
unstable

A never ending cycle
of reoccurring quests

stripped
left lifeless

plundered
robbed

                                                  slanted

How can I be healing and hurting at the same time?

I am
fed up

of this
game
with
you

I have
created
in my head

Fed up
with this
imaginary world

tearing me
apart

Fed up
with the
impairing
the
glaring

This clouded mass
                        mess
seems stuck
in my head
riddling my thoughts

My perspective
my situation
my view

my me
my you
       varies
       alters
       glitches
Passing through

A parallel universe

                                            You

What is what?
And who is who?
What is me?
And what is you?

Oh,
what must it be like
to see
and be
true.

I shift

endless transmutations
infected with miff

subtle causings
ceasing in nothingness

directing
my oblivious being
towards
the inevitable
void

I am scared of losing the people I love,
because they will find someone
better,
lighter,
happier,
easier,
less problematic,
less worrisome,
...
someone more present,
someone more pleasant.

I am scared of people forgetting me,
of people realizing they're better off without me,
and realizing that I am actually weighing them down.

I am scared of being left alone,
of being abandoned.
(Just like many have before)

I am scared of not being worthy of love and commitment.

I am scared of people realizing they have made a mistake by being friends with me and letting me in their lives.

I am scared of being alone and unloved.

Scared to death.

Nibble nibble, crunch crunch
the story of a godforsaken
hungry bunch

'What's for dinner?'
You ask me you sinner!

How dare you?
Now,
go take a bow

I demand
you take no more
otherwise
you will be sore

Don't feel annoyed
against this void
you're just like any other humanoid

So go ahead,
crawl into bed

Who knows,
tomorrow
you might already
be

Dead.

This does not seem right.
Because,
this definitely does not feel right.
I do not feel right.

As if
I am a puzzle piece
forced into the wrong puzzle hole.
Losing its edges.
Sacrificing its shape.
Suppressing its whole.

I can't seem to master the control.

'Let's make Art.'
Make?
How do you make art?
I musn't just make art.
I need to live art.
                 see art.
                 feel art.
                 breathe art.
                 BE art.
What even is art?
Anything you want.
Anything that brings your heart up to
a concernable high beat.
So intense,
your whole body
is vibrating.
So loud,
it's hard to see,
                    stand,
                    think,
      ­              be
                                  without.

It could have passed

You
The moments
The feelings
The love
The smiles
The tears
The fears
The heartbreak

It could have passed
Left untouched
Undiscovered

No moments
No feelings
No love
No smiles
No tears
No fears
No heartbreak

No heartbreak...
No love.

No love...
                                NO

with myself.

Reaching from my bed,
disguised as safe space,
gradually releasing its poison.

Paralyzing my mind, body and soul
and inexorably imprisoning my whole.

Eventually dropping out of bed,
I continue my daily walk to the toilet.
A gnomish little space.
No windows,
no colours,
no sink,
no outside world.
Merely three walls and a squeaking door.
Isolation at its finest.

Progressing to the kitchen,
I find a room filled with triggers and false comfort,
followed by attacks of anxiety, loneliness and failure.

Eventually ceasing back
to my seemingly soothing safe space.

Yielding into reoccurring patterns
of soul *******.

Drowning in feelings of guilt and self-harm.