Restless, my eyes are turning
As I'm running from them.
I'm not one soul, I'm vulnerable, their
Noose was fit for me, do I take it? Or do I
Bleed? Again, another day; one more rhyme.
One more night envelopes me, addressed to the
Wavering pupils I cannot contain. Save me, I scream;
but they don't hear me. And even though
I cut them open, they still don't fear me----

Traced eyes with circles,
and a headache, he forgot
all he used to be

replacing nights with
sobbing, he took all he had
and soon went missing

A backpack full of
his blighted heart, taking the
corruption away

Scattering it on
the beach, the tides replaced them
with nothing but shells-

Acts of illusion,
Plotting the ways to be killed,
Dulled his sway in life-

My moon drips silver;
Gliding from its craters, flown
Across galaxies

Alien beings
Stare at its state; leaking a
Peak at what it is

But the moon's just the
Moon to us; nothing more than
A dab to the sky

How I wonder the
Way y'all see it tonight; can
You find the beauty?*

~Or is it just the moon?~

I jumped in, right to
Pooling thoughts, I'd discarded,
Help me feel again-

A poet on the run,
he's escaping his own head.
This ******, broken son,
stands to where he's fled.
Quiet; maybe it's best,
that a pen's his only friend.
They're pounding on his chest,
yet only his hand ascends.
So many words wasted,
that he should've said.
"All of y'all are faceless,
to me you're just the dead,"
Because somewhere along the journey,
his humanity faded too.
They laughed and called him 'worthy,'
as his pupils changed their hue.
"Dead, you're all dead!
Can y'all truly not see?
Take your souls, and leave my bed,
before I forget who I used to be"
-

Dotted, spotted, he's found
on the run. Not from himself,
but the lack of others.
Rotted through, inside and out;
a walking price to pay.
Smothered in scars,
wandered too far;
now he's completely
lost
today-

I will go where the swallows go,
following orange sunsets and
amber wings.
I will search for bottled letters,
written in the dawn of future,
for something more than bottomless worry.
I will go where the swallows go,
sleeping in the marshes' hollow,
I only hope for tomorrow.
My lungs may burst as I cover my nose and mouth,
I give my strength to the waters now.
With its will; I could too, learn to fly.
I will go where the swallows go,
because where they lead, I do not
know, but it's something better than here;
a being to cease my
fear--

We have incentive to collect our fears,
replace them with hope in the incoming years.
But we tie them off and leave them alone;
stash them away in the deepest parts of our bones.
Stamp them in blood, or tears we forgot,
switch off the trauma and train of our thoughts.
The tracks mail letters, to the backs of our minds;
a land unknown from the depth of our blinds.
I promise you, this ill way of thinking,
doesn't solve the problem, nor help it sink in.
Someone will find them,
somehow deny them,
for the points you could've made;
and the pain you couldn't take-

I'm unassured with the words I think,
slipping, skipping days, I sink.
I lost my mind in my head's black,
and died in the depth trying to get it back.
Maybe I'm a resented presence;
pressed upon malnourished intentions.
I can't find the point anymore;
I can't brim the dark anymore,
and if I submerge below my purpose,
what am I even fighting for?
--------------------------------------