I am just a concept.
shapes twisting, moving, changing,
taking on new and familiar forms,
fading and brightening, becoming new colors,
colors that may not even exist yet.
as one piece of me falls out of focus, another fills the void,
sometimes just shapes and colors, I'm unrecognized
other times, the shapes get smaller, more specific,
piecing together a collage of misshapen pieces,
ultimately giving the illusion of unity, of purpose.
i ask myself if how I'm seeing myself is how others do.
everyone pieces these shapes together differently,
creating a new being unique to them that i cannot precieve.
to them, i am those ideas, that shape,
and others can say what they see,
change what others see of me,
influence other's perception of myself.
to me, i am constantly changing,
constantly evolving,
the me that i can precieve is just a concept,
in that light i am just a thought, nothing more.

My mind is scattered
thoughts askew
not myself
she who I never knew
disconnected from reality
never knowing the truth
a faceless ghost
telling me what to do
reaching for answers
that skim my fingers
unable to grasp
my thoughts
the new
my mind is a puzzle
missing half the pieces
the others are the same
an impossible thing to continue
I yearn to connect
the pieces of my mind
but I’m missing the blueprint
the one I must design
scattered mind
controlled by a ghost
whose name is mine
but face is unknown…

Clementines on a Sunday morning

I've had a taste of love
I fell down
Way too many times
This feeling's so surreal
Must be crime... Crime?

Subtle, subliminal
You come around like a criminal
And leave me yearning
For your
Clementines on a Sunday morning.

Encased, as an oil painting,
behind a plane of glass.
Years of exposure dulling the canvas,
no funding to restore the brightness
of the subject's lifeless eyes.
They lay dormant, cloudy,
From a lifetime of accumulative debris.
Transferred between people, buildings, countries;
Memories on display for brief intervals,
Then packaged and returned to storage,
As if they were never your own.
People shift, distorted, beyond the coffin of glass.
Their movements hazy,
The shutter speed slow.
Colours muted,
Sounds muffled,
Melting into each other.
An abstract watercolour, waxing and waning.
Low resolution projections on a dimly lit screen -
A theatre seating but one.

What is this feeling
I can't seem to shake?
I know im not dreaming
But i dont feel awake

I look all around me
But nothing feels real
My heart keeps on pounding
it's all i can feel

What is this feeling
that steals all my breath?
Whatever i do
it won't make me fear less

I look at the world
But it's just one big dream
Reality is fading
It's not what it seems

I call out for help
But nobody can hear me
The silence within
Is all that is near me

Im trapped in my mind
with no place to go
this life is an illusion
im all on my own