There are days when the music is too loud
And the grass looks too green
There are mornings when the **** crows too proud
And mama's cheerful wakeup call sounds too mean

There are days when my dreams seem too blury
When past nightmares seem too scary
There are mornings when my goals are too high
And my arms are too tired to reach for anything but the nigh

There are days when my head is too heavy to lift
When even my eyelids are too heavy to lift
There are mornings when my eyelashes are forced to sweep
My cheeks and be drenched in the tears I weep

There are days when I wake up and wish I had stayed asleep
Remembering how I didn't sleep last night counting sheep
The drowsy feeling of last night lapses into the insomnia of today
And the dreams of yesteryear bounce off my head like a faded light ray

Only on those days when the sweet music doesn't speak to my soul
And the green of the grass might as well be grey,
Do I shamefully and pitifully wallow
In the sweet, sticky, dry tears on my pillow

Only on those mornings when the **** crows continuously, monotony its tone
And mama calls for me to wake up, a few hours after my first wink, in a
voice that's a slow, dull, monotone
Do I shamefully and pitifully wallow
In the sweet, sticky, dry tears on my pillow

Miss Fit

The floor beneath me is melting like a painting left in the rain
The more I try to claw my way back to consciousness
The more I drift away from reality
The deeper I sink into the place of distorted horror
Where static shapes are able to twist and turn
Ears are able to see and smell
Brains are scrambled and tangled
Words are formed but cannot be spoken
Thoughts are burgeoned but cannot be controlled
The venomous voices have all the power
Dare not to feed them with positivity
In darkness they are determined to rule

27/03/2019

On the creaking wooden chair in the corner, hanging on the scaffold, in the circular mirror, distorted and twisted and folding. It stands in the shadows. It lurks in the school playground while parents wait for their children, it’s a runaway train, and it’s the ink streaming down the window pane, it’s the clock melting inwards.
its golden fluidity and baby blue subtleties.
It’s the reason why you wake in the middle of the night,
gasping into darkness and grappling with loose ends... it was just a dream.
The reason you turn a corner just to look back behind you, why you double-take in the mirror, question where did I go?
Looking at nothing, staring into the bleak dark, it lurks. Awaits.
It waits in the form of a child holding a red balloon, staring into our blind spots.
Like shadows, when the sun rotates away from behind the playground wall you know, just then, now, in that full circle...
it’s about to run out.
You bend over backwards to relate to the moonlight dancing on the floor of its own reflections. It shows itself on beer bottles from better nights, you cross one leg over the other, position yourself,
folded linen.
Rushing to endless deadlines for nowhere o’clock, last call for the runaway train, struggling with human concepts.
You’re simply a sum of parts: an addition of flesh, limbs, old and broken battered bones, blind spots.
All the places you can’t see, can’t feel, can’t reach.
Loose ends meet themselves in the corner of that same old dusty room,
the folded linen crumples to the floor,

the red balloon bursts.

Splitting the sea,
The wind I feel, keeps crossing over time, clearing the path between a sea of truth and lies, revealing what was hidden within such misery,
Amongst an ocean of common sense, opens the true pathway,
Cross it, by the miracle created in the dearness you held so close,
Caught within the border of life and death, you cannot be swept away
Don't be built on sand, the one you are walking on, wet, fragile and likely to fall apart within the barriers of water, pillars rising up to you, yet there is no need to worry, have faith, your transience remains
Distortion, clouded within judgement of two sides which only one is righteous about, oh how trecious, lies cannot win a long run yet try to
mislead and falsify the facts of life for ones owns benefits and needs,
The truth however, may be harsh and hard to take, yet has a sweeter taste than the best lie given, even though, you may end up deserted.
Those liars, they chase after you for not following them, yet when the sea collapses they surely will drown in the reigns of the truthful water
Looking at what I desire to accomplish, is to break the boundaries with this miraculous wind, be carried away, softly, gently swaying,
Carrying my wings, fighting on until the moment when I should fall,
Until the moment this path is overtaken by the ocean again

~ Umi

Move my heart
My soul is yours
I am but broken shards
My intended image,
distorted, crooked, gone
Melt and mend this glass of mine
Into the image so divine
Of you, from you, like you, for you
I am yours and you are mine