It’s like I’m slipping in slow motion
I’m the only one who can notice it now
But eventually I’ll fall
My gut tells me to grasp at the straws
I planted to steady me
But their roots are shallow
And stalks are withered
And when I reach up they brush past
My fingers and our connection fails
And I
F
    A
          L
               L
I fall too fast in slow motion
For anyone to help
And all this time
I felt it inside
Knowing somethings wrong
And I said nothing

The night I spoke a charm and you collapsed,
The seas were burning bright to seize the storm.
My love was thrown into the ground of lust;
It was exhumed as soon as it was born.

The boomerang came back and hit my face;
Went all around, and saw the street of darkness.
It has become a sort of race and chase,
In which the only one to judge is Madness.

I threw it back again in hopes of change;
The wind blew back and forth but never Right.
As blue skies grew into a twisted cage,
The vicious cycle left its mark tonight.

And months pass by, so I am here to heal,
By writing on this sheet as true as steel.

Blank walls, spackled
And clean, yet empty.
Stretch out your weary arms;
Feel the numbness in your fingers.
A can of paint, a brush, and a pan -
Colors bleeding from the shape of your mind.

Take a deep breath,
Feet flat on the ground,
And open your eyes.
You can remake yourself.
Paint the walls.


Blank walls, spackled.

I can’t articulate the profound bleakness
Even companies of my own seems ghastly
The tip of my tongue burns when I uttered it
and I conceeded after I confide
just to stop the noise

Time spent with family
I'm able to break free
from all these bad habits
constantly chasing after me.
They never truly go away
sticking to me
like a shadow sticks
to the concrete.
Time spent away
distanced from my past
I feel finally free
from the demons in me.
Now I'm home alone,
I'm all on my own
I was naive
I thought I was free.
Knocking on the door
I hear a familiar sound
it's my shadow; the demon
I've been found.

To wake up and run
Should be a real fun
But NO , its not
Feels like stifling by a knot

Short of breath in my mind
Even before the start of grind
We sleep, that's fine
But to rise is asinine

The weight of my slumber
When I drag encumbered
Against all reasons
Be what may the season
My soul shouts " Treason"
For my wilted rhythm

Why why why
My heart starts to cry
I wake up for what
And sleep to naught
This universal cycle of routine
Is a time tested guillotine

My hunt is on for the reason
Till then I ll punish self for the treason
By waking after sleep
And running daily and weep!!!

returned to the same desk,
the same grindstone, the same thoughts,
cyclical patterns of thought and action,
but which comes first?

the will slips, the cracks widen,
and it all floods in, easier to understand,
caught within the same ropes,
you spun from woes of a broken past,

and they were meant to help climb out,
but the grease that bounds the threads,
cannot be grasped by those unresolved,
to the reality they crave most,