I didn't want to be like her. I don't want to. I dont want to lose control. I don't want it to consume the life out of  me, if i still have one that's still decent enough to be ruined. And now that's all I'm thinking. But thinking further into it, i knew we werent the same. She was lost in the midst of a peace and empty ocean. She couldnt see any land. The kind of peace where silence was her loudest enemy and thats what drove her to the edge. Me, im in a river. Holding a row without a boat. I had the fine illusion that i could take control. And even when i knew, i went with the flow like a fool, trying, i wish i could say mindlessly, trying to get away from the water. There was a destination but it was not mine. It was a preset of how everything should be but its all a blur. It's assurance but a nightmare everytime i close my eyes. It never silenced my mind.

Just imagine if I disappeared,
Would your memory of me be blurred?
Rusting away in your mind,
Leaving me behind.
A face you had known, a name you had heard.

Words mean nothing to me
So if you want me to understand
You better cut me open
You'll have a better shot of reaching my soul
I don't remember things
If you start a sentence with
"Do you remember...."
No
I don't

Every day is a blur
I know I lived this day
But in my soul
I haven't left my bed

Your voice
b lll uuuuu rrrrr eeee dddddd my own
Be shhhhh(quiet)hhhhhh..
I am /ˈlɪs(ə)n/ing
there's a whole
track list I missed
that doesn't play
your name
over
and
over
and
over

Why does the morning pass by so quickly?
The grey light fades steadily away
as the sun reaches the top of its ascent.
Empty coffee cups, the bottom layered with grounds,
sit on the desk by the window.

Sewn into the fabric, intricately woven,
the multi colored threads begin to overlap
and are tightened, pulled through by the sure hand
of the passing hours.

The outline blurs,
the voice of memory begin to dissolve.
The faded face mouths the words
but I cannot remember the sound,
lost to the piling sands
at the bottom of the hourglass.

He lumbers, he doesn't sashay.
Aware enough to catch a 'think-fast' pass.
He's an analog man, and not a soothe-sayer.
He was a zen buddhist, and a nudist whose wardrobe was air.
He always wanted kids but could never think of names.
His truth is so spreadable it's incredible
His credit's so meddled with it's debtable.
He moves peanuts under walnut shells,
less talented than critical.
With passion like the hypnotized
limits were his starting lines
He was never very impressed with things,
would say 'ignorance doesn't exonerate’—He broke alot of hearts and earned alot of parking fines—‘Income doesn't make the man' unless its not coming in.
His only wish was for a time machine;
He could be ambassador to the past.
he could relive his endings
without missing anything