somehow
I was a mystery
   To you

But I was a broken piece
   A tired soul
     feeling unease

I closed doors
  windows
built fences around my home

all I wanted was control
  Of the car
   My life was driving

and wasn't it nice
      every other sunsets
   a shadow beneath the surface
we collided

a disruption
    my routine gone
anticipation
   and back to drama

It was uncontrollable
  the fifth gear
    I am scared

The wind flying my hair
    car radio, top volume
it was going too fast

   It was beyond
me, my white fences disappeared
and my living room couch is occupied
        Why cannot I stop this mess

Soon it will be too late
   A repeat of fate
       Or maybe this is not a mistake?

How could they expect from her to love?
When she was always in the battlefield with her armour on
At a war with her own demons...
Always filling her wounds with the confidence that
She was bigger than her demons
And that one day...she'll take the control.

uppers and downers
feed the human machine
popping tiny missiles to
launch at rocket spreed

Knowing I'll be feeling hopeless and could use the direction
the distraction.
What is the use?
I need to feel like I am being significant

But I am significant

But why bother?
there is no deadline
there is no action.

i find that time runs slow in the morning
eight skips later then it's 8 pm
three nights in a row

but what is happening?
Where is my will
my willingness
to REALLY live?

Everything
is always the same
same thoughts
same drive
but a drive to nowhere but dreams on broken foundations
monotonous.

I have to push myself, I know I must.
to be able to OPEN my eyes and SEE
because all I see is fog.

I am aware?
I do not feel aware.

i am trapped in a misty humid fog, waving my arms gasping.
trying to breathe
dying to breathe
i cannot breathe.

I want to experience life in all its glories
And I would have
Or do I just think I would have?

if circumstances weren't so hilariously unfunny
Why?
why do i get the thing i have wanted most,
At the cost of another?
I don't even get a say in the decision-making,
I am merely just the puppet in this simulation
Playing out the scenes after the act.
Why?
That's because the forces of the universe have a sense of humor.

I very dislike change, and so it finds me a perfect match.
But others who wish they can leave their hometowns, have to stay stagnant until adulthood.
Where is my right to a less stressful childhood?
Why.

why am i being forced to grow up?
Being forced to mature or else i cannot keep up

being organized is the only thing that keeps me sane
It is the only thing that I have control over

One of the only things I have control over.

I am the physical manifestation of anxiety
Screaming
to be heard
to be n o t i c e d


to be mistaken for art


It was
a way of rebellion in a circumstance where i was forced to mature quick
robbed of non-persistent
non-insistent thoughts

So i hope fate is happy now.
For through the course you have run,
you have molded this puppet,
exactly how you have planned.

you can check me off your list

i go through the hollow days
until the first drop of alcohol hits my tongue;
and then, the choice. the concerned mother,
the train-track rumbling stomach, the
"you can't drink any more unless you eat something."

i want to say it's my life. i want to say
that drinking on an empty stomach is far
more cost effective and that i'm here to go
the distance. it's enough for the first
few hours to laugh it off, until the house is closed
up and the oven is on, on, on.

really, it's not my fault. my dad's a chef. i'm human
and i know i'll die if i chastity-lock my lips forever, it's just...
well, there's something in it. there's something
perfect about "no thanks, i'm not hungry,"
like the smiling hollow is earthquake-rumbling:
"yes, yes, yes, one day you will die small."

You're only pretty
If you wear this
            have this
            are this

You're only cool
If you smoke this
            drink this
            own this

You need it NOW
            Before it's gone!

A new and improved you

                  (Until we tell you otherwise)

I can't stop cleaning
My knuckles are dry
Red
Rivers of disinfectant fill the parched cracks of my skin
A storm in a gorge
There's too much dust
A sandstorm
I swipe it away
It comes back!
Dark grey tufts of storm clouds
That I, with my
Mighty Hand
Brush away
Insignificant

But it's not nothing
I know what it is

I tear the filled pages
Out of my notebook
Cast them away
They're impure
Scribbled on
Clean white pages are all I need
The purity of sacred bleach

Smell the chemicals, the cleanliness
Destroy the dust, keep order
Tear the paper, fall like rain

It's never nothing
I know what it is