It was dusk,
I was walking below the eyes of trees around the park.
The lampposts comes to life one after another. I closed my eyes as I blindly walk pass by, inhales deeply as I exhales with a breeze dancing around my skin.

I opened my eyes as I saw you standing in the middle of the bridge,
hands in the pocket of your coat lost by the harmonious beauty the sky has to offer.

You snaps out of it and sees me at the other side,
You flashed a smile and walks away; like a breeze you gave me chills but only for a couple of seconds.

My eyes are fixed seeing nothing at nowhere,
Glued looking front towards voidance of thy existence.
My world seems to fade,
Your truth is my fate.
And me?
I don't know...
Lame; but it's the same.
Being a white crow make me insane,
And one multipied by you doesn't make you sane.
Your belief pushing me as if I'm bane,
But reality those white crows are the one being slain.

Every person I passed by seems seeing life differently than I.
It must be because of those eyeglasses hanging in front of their eyes.
"I must have mine", I said.
I found it in deep angst and shivering that I have been burdened with.
As soon I had it worn, it broke.
I looked for all possible ways to fix it,
All for to see life in a different perspective.
My existence was questioned..
Laughed at..
At some point some people understood my journey.
But yet they asked me, "Why aren't you wearing the glasses?"
I answered, "It broke, I tried to fix it but eventually it can never be fixed."
In that moment I finished that sentence, it felt like I turned invisible.
Now, ignored.
I had no other wish than to restore those glasses that gives life to everything I used to adore.

from nerves, I cannibalise my fingers
my blood clots, and dries out
crusty and painful
yet I keep on pressing, biting
because it gives me focus
a sick type of satisfaction,
a sense of control.

I whine tears leak out, my eyelids stuttering,
Tired
my fingers bit, bone exposed and ******
my fingernails and fingerprints
all gone,
remains lay in my stomach
acid consuming the scraps of skin
this is what I call my very own cannibalism.

when i get nervous i cannot eat.
this is eating me alive.

Did I scare you?

Do you hate me?

Sorry


I'll



Try




Less





Next




Time.

On the morrow I will ask her if she will go with me.
If she tries to set me free wont it just be a trap for me?
Yes I would be free from the fear of rejection
but instead I would be the prisoner of depression
On the other hand if I am asked to stay
all my chains would fall away.
Now is the moment before the scales tip
before the choice is made and the cards flip
My mind is always caught up in this reflection
and thus I'm haunted by the fear of rejection.

I used to see the world
in shades of black and blue.
Like the imprint of hands,
like the image of my bruised skin.

The flashes of pain,
blindingly white
behind my eyelids,
shut tight.

I shut my eyes as tightly
as you gripped my wrist.
Trying to block out the pain,
as you tugged me along.

My eyes were still ******* shut
when you slammed my head against
the picture frame, cracking
in tandem with my broken heart.

I remember hot breath on my neck,
whispering.
"You're mine" is supposed to be endearing,
right?

You love me
you love me
you loved me,
right?

At least he’s eating lunch today.
Scrambled-egg-sandwich smell of telling me to worry less—
I never do.
“I can’t do anything”
“My mind is gone”
I suppose life is splitting through your bones,
But don’t worry,
Spatula in hand,
waving fates away like flies amongst an endless strain of pain,
He tries to stand
Against the demons eating him
Away.
But hey,
At least he’s eating lunch today.