All so different, but all the same
All so centered, but full with shame
All do looking for one to blame
All do cheating, but life's no game

Do I act
like that,
in fact?

If yes, I think
my mind
just cracked.

Reap a reaper,
riddle a riddler,
Out-think a thinker
while watching a man who
still steals steel
find peace in a
pierced piece,
as he see seas
that are ceasable.
laughing at laughter because it's laughable.

Risk seeking
to seek risking
so you can feel feelings
of love for a lover
because they're lovable
while realising that in reality they are not reliable
They get sensitive
about sensitivity
is that sensible?
Questioning questions
that are not questionable.

End at the beginning
or begin at the end
to rest restfully as you
dream dreamfully about
articulating art artfully.

I separated my mind and heart, because they never can agree. Always seem too have different needs, and bicker endlessly.

I built a wall up higher, trying to protect my soul. My mind said he would break me, my heart couldn't take another toll.

My heart kept whispering his name, and longing for his touch. I couldn't make my mind agree, it warned it's far to much.

Hearts must be made of glass, and we keep our minds in chains. After all the heartache I've endured, maybe only a pretty face remains.

Conflicted because I never got to say, all that I might. Tormented by the memories of you, and how my mind and heart still fight.

My head hasn't stopped throbbing
Because of the past hour of crying

Oh how we lost our minds
When we fell in love that night
I don’t want to put up a fight
But things went really wrong this time.
I will remember the good times too
But I’m really glad we’re through.

So many questions
left unanswered
So many words
left unsaid
Flooding through the troubled minds
of the isolated
and forgotten
night after night
sitting alone
with hearts ablaze
staring at the moon

Our heads are the most terrible place, you know.

And I’m glad that he cannot possibly exist there, not actually. If I try to fit him in my boxes, place him in my categories, I’ve removed every bit of his individuality.

Individuality is what makes us who we are. So if I remove the thing that makes him who he is, I’ve removed him entirely.

So it’s a paradox, you see.

The boy out there in the world cannot possibly exist in my head

yet I spend all my day thinking of him.

I’m thinking, rather, of the objectivity of who he is.

I like the idea of the object-boy — it’s simple, it makes sense.

The object-boy fits in all the right boxes, he slides right into my assumptions and conclusions.

He never has a care, he is perfect and is spotless and is happy and is robotic.

He is not real.

He cannot be real. And I’m so very happy, because perfect people tend to be a bore.