Displace
Misplace
Replace
Me.
With another.
Or perhaps something entirely different.
Don't you get tired of yourself?
The scabs on my knees and elbows crack at the feeling of despair.
They bleed out red and green thread, love and envy for the undead.
This is just an escape,
Another rusting coping mechanism thrown out to the pile.
Don't you ever get tired of yourself?
The routinical sequences living inside my head would agree,
She's exhausted
She's tired of me.

i am so exhausted
of the cotidian
the daily
the unorthodox.
i want to be afloat,
no more of this suspended waiting
no more of this nonsense.
i want silence, not bliss,
i want not the love but a mere kiss,
a breath of air inspired into my throat warmly.
i want too much already...
a little more sleep
a little more warmth
PATIENCE
or,  maybe
death.

The train
****** to wait for me as i count my steps
Going away
And returning
It always passes
Waiting for me to suddenly be stuck to the railroad
Waiting for me to never hear it
I think the train follows me but that's foolish
So i stay cradled in my words, veiled by the moon and my alternating fictitious emotions,
Wanting to be young forever
For being stuck in this timeline just makes everything beautiful.
My ****** youth makes bliss out of misery and condemns my joy for it to be kept for moments like these,
Retrospective of my self, time and the right way to be,
Startled by my conflicting sentiments,
Young anger of the frustrated, power hungry and discontent,
But grateful, for what I've lived and seen.
This is no note or ode to death,
Just a gentle message that i am well
And that I've been and felt plenty
So if thy mark of the end would think I'm ready,
I wouldn't cry, I wouldn't beg to stay in the remnants of me.
But if there's more to breathe than what I've had then, I'll inhale happily.
For the train to or not to hit me,
I'll have to keep waiting,
I promise i am not glamorizing, pain or anger or even lucidity
I am simply accepting comfort, commodity, a vile of short bliss before morning comes in emptyly.
I won't plaster this on the eyes of people to see but rather keep it, treasured antique of my immobility while I for once enjoy living, morbidly, but truly.

I wanna live my young years
Screaming at people across the terminals,
Waking up in train stations
Loving to live among others.
I wanna live in the romanticism of the teenage years.
I wanna get wasted with strangers
And sing on the boulevards.
What the **** kind of good girl am I?
What the **** kind of intimidating hypocrite am I?
What the ****?
Time is passing by me while I watch it from my top bunk
From my bathtub
From my phone camera.
Only if I could say I ate my years like the other kids,
"I smoked my years away" or "drugs ate at my sanity"
No.
It's just the glamour veil.
I watched my years
I didn't eat or smoke them.
I stood by and watched them fly and now I feel old.

I search for wisdom in others
So I can relax
Lay back and not do anything.
I don't need to be wise
My skepticism wouldn't have to tire me.
It's so easy to lean on someone
Be it their body or mind
Their actions or opinions
It's way more comfortable.
Because forming a singular personal identity
Is seemingly impossible.
What is me?
What sets me apart from my ego, whatever I project outwards to the people?
So why be me when there's someone else I can form onto.
Parasitical existence by all means inclusive,
Online, offline, flatline.
I can be you when I can't be me.
I can be you when I am tired
I can be you when I'm lying
I can be you when I don't like me.
Because my persona is picture perfect I can exude my flaws onto someone and my aspirations on someone else.
So I end up being a split formation of self.
The 27th part of me you can find on said website.
Cuz the media is eating me out while my family watches.
What are my ******* core values.
How can I be me when I don't know how I'm living?
So I form me into something else,
Permanency hurts so I morph.
Silently.

Well thought out impulsive decisions,
Not wise but planned.
Still impulsive just measured.
My being.
That's all my life has ever been
And the moment I think I know the world.
It turns back and spits on me.
you thought...