Something mooore, for my soul,
Give me the buy, in your fancy store,
Give me the buy, hopefully, I can be mooor can make it feel mooor,
Poor craving soul, wants sraff, staff, staff,
Anything,

I want to buy in your store, something mooor,
Give me mooor, mooor, mooor, mooor,
buy and buy, mooor,  hopefully I can be mooor,
I can make it feel mooor,
So much hope For my soul,

Something to love, so, the next morning I can throw it away,
Looking to buy Moooooor, Happiness,
For my craving soul,

Somebody help me!

Get out my soul!
Out from your store!
Please?!
Close the store door!
I’ll pay you,

Pondering existence itself:
mere deadweight for "success"
this narrative of the times
must be upheld as sacred
absolute!

The religion of modernity is that
of willful blindness taken
as a virtue

Benign
harmless
or so we are led to believe:

that it is the mark of a healthy man
to never use his brain!

This body's not eternal
and this mind just might be along with it
soul just might decay with the brain
Sparks of life become ash
and fertilize the lake and sands
where my last wish will flow
by who knows who will be
the last of my loved ones
You're my purest afterlife hope

I sit here in uncomfortable indecision
feeling every itch and twitch, T.V. off
trying to listen to the cellular hum
to reach peace of mind
give in to the fractals and functions
and blaze when it gets too bad

It's the present we forget
I'm always in-between doing this or that
waiting for inspiration
waiting for the stars to align
when my shuttle works fine

In my eyes i see evil,
A window depicting
A devil beside me.

I couldn't see though him,
As i hurried through the rain.
His reflection stained dry
Just inside the glass.

A man slowly writhing,
tossing, and turning,
Tattered soaked clothing,
On a dampened cardboard bed,
On the wrong side of the glass.

There he suffers,
Feet from salvation,
My train station.

A shiver passes through me
As i enter this cathedral of a station,
Population: one bulletproof guard,
Ensuring that i am not bothered
By the sickening feeble,
****** and outside.
But that does bother me.

Is there no church
In this place of momentum,
On the greener side of the glass,
Where we do not stop moving?

This is the only time we'll ever meet.
You could be in a cafe
Or a bus as you read this.

My words travel to your eyes
Like light into an event horizon.
Whether you remember me or not
Will never matter.

My name is not important,
But don't let that fool you,
Our meeting is as grandiose
As the creation of life itself.
For my light may flash
A heavenly bright torch

So long as your mind
Can make the right choice.

Head spinning
Heart aching
Torn between worlds
Like cloth being ripped apart

One of tradition
Speaking my native tongue
Wearing my culture
A dress adorned
With the tales of nameless ancestors
Lost to history

One of modernity
Pursuing the passions
That burn like a blazing sun in me
Eyes sharp, voice echoing

Trying to find day and night
In search of me

I'm told that feeling and love are innate,
So why can't I communicate?
I'm despairing and longing for human connection,
But I'm met with indifference or even rejection.

Internally I harbour thoughts of kindness,
But they wither in the wake of external blindness,
I'm obsessed with truth and authenticity,
And this comes at the detriment of anyone knowing me.

An extreme fear of misunderstanding remains,
Despite me knowing that this is my ball and chain,
A depleting hope lingers on in my dreams,
So fragile and weak, a mere ember it seems.