I feel as though I wade through the sickly gait
of butter
mind cast deep into the sea,
searching for a coast covered in fog
barely able to make out
the craggy blades of rock
of that world I forgot

It is imprisoning,
stuck aboard a cork of reality
suspended above a chasm of inconsequentiality
that dives unfathomable below
into sickly dark secrets of dreams and
excitable interactive equations
that lead me towards some inevitability

Maybe this is the special sauce,
that radioactivity
that racks my skull
pushes me beyond the world
and into the dreamland of poets

"Dream, dream until you sleep,"
but I have so much to see,
someone to meet,
you told me!
Why lie?
Why die!?

Maybe its all unreal
maybe its all a sheen
a fake shear curtain
so thin,
impossible to see

White and fuzzy and tickly
down my spine
my lower back
my spleen
my scrotal sack
its everywhere
and I don't know what you are
God, help me

I am getting angry
devil is taking the wheel
and wants to drive me off a cliff
or into some abyss
of mind
and I want to let it
I want to be normal again
only a week ago
maybe never
but my god when do we ever feel healthy?

I haven't seen a soul I love
in far too many days
sinful attitude pushing me deep into the drift
and current events that carry me
into pools of vengeful rage
Take me out deep
among those glittering distant seas
Guide me into salvation
to comfort beyond sleep

I don't know what to do
I don't know where to go and whether
I don't know whether to
destroy the old and create a new one
I don't know what to do

I don't know what to do
Today very bad wheather
I don't know what to do
Im very hate everything now ever

I don't know what to do
I don't know where to go and whether
I don't know whether to
destroy the old and create a new one
I don't know what to do

I don't know what to do
Today very bad wheather
I don't know what to do
Im very hate everything now ever

2017

Deaf-mute,
never know himself or herself
like being know by someone too.

lips of an angel
eyes of a snake
The devil wore prada
But yours are just fake.

We both tried our best
To be together.

But darling,
I can't hold the moon in my hands
And you can't
Walk on the sun.

Here I stand on the ***** of my feet,
Watching as the time passes by.
The day fulfilling the dreamers,
The night exhausting the lost.
Why must I move on?
Why must I go?
I don’t know.
I don’t know.

Here I sit under a stately willow tree,
Accompanying me with its hospitality.
It droops as it stands so mighty,
It rises as it slumps in humility.
Why must the tree persist?
Why must the tree grow?
I don’t know.
I don’t know.

Here I lie in a box of plastered wooden veneer,
My eyes encumbered by pitchy darkness.
I breathe my gratitude of this quietus,
I cry my despair for my own creation.
Why must I wallow in my regret?
Why must I now feel this woe?
Now I know.
Now I know.