I shouldn’t have opened the box,

because Hope was forced to hope for all evil.


I shouldn’t have checked to see if the cat was dead or alive;

it wasn’t—the hammer didn’t hit—but it starved to death.


I shouldn’t have replaced all my ship’s parts,

now I have two, but the original is still broken.

if i changed every part of me
one at a time
could i even love me as a whole?
if i replaced every part of me
one by one
would i even be the same?

i am the ship of theseus
never the same, never different
i do not know who or what i am anymore

so i try to fit in
i try to believe in some higher being
something to explain
why i feel this way

and if i replace every part of me
for you
for me
for some divine being
i’ll replace my mind as well

and maybe then i wont act this way
maybe then i wont think this way
maybe then i wont feel this way
and i wont remember who i used to be
because was i ever truly someone
if i replaced every part of me?

would i ever truly feel comfortable in my own skin
if it was no longer mine?

You see what lies before,
Yet chase what could be more.
The simple stands concrete,
But ease eludes your feet.
No space to find complete.
Dreams shape what might unfold,
Yet quake where thoughts take hold.
You see, you know, you stall
A foe that builds a wall.
No fight can break its call.
Time bends, it carves, it breaks,
A paradox that takes.
In shadows, thoughts conceal
The paths you long to feel.
You row through waves unreal.
Infinity’s a trap,
A boundless, woeful map.
It twists what minds can know,
And kills where thoughts still grow.
Let ignorance bestow.
To stop, you must let go,
Release the undertow.
The void’s last kiss will miss
If will can break this bliss.
Step back from thought’s abyss.
Beyond the self, it lies
A truth no mind defines.
To name it is to bind,
To seek it is to grind.
The mystery’s unconfined.

Boredom
Nothing to do
Nothing to say
Nothing to feel
Its peaceful
It’s perfect
If only it didn’t feel so wrong
The yearn for excitement
Something to do
Something to say
Something to feel
It feels so right
If only it didn’t lead to a want to do nothing
A need for Boredom
Nothing to do
Nothing to say
Nothing to feel
And such the cycle goes on
And on
Forever longer

Ascetic are our ways,
But vitalizing, our planet.
A beast of ever-changing,
Host to a home of restless thinkers.
We plan to live, to thrive, to marry, to survive,
But never to accept mortems call.

It is our way, it is our want, we never change, we only taunt,
To continue with the optimum:
To continue to destroy, to hate, to ****,
We claim to evolve, yet remain astray,
Step in sync, we demand,
Join the march of regret.

We cry wolf:
Declare deaths unnatural--
Only proper if they fit our chosen form!

We cry dog:
Condemn those like us, yet not us,
Brand them evil for daring to exist!

We cry human:
Denounce those who dare not follow our rule,
Who betray our command!

To be a person, to be a human, we set limits, we set categories, we set nature,
We dictate what 'right' ought to be,
But who are we to decide what should and shouldn't?
Who are we to assert good and evil,
When nature simply exists--
To neither be right,
To neither be wrong,
Beyond our classifications and laws,
Is to be natural.

But then arises the paradox:
To be truly natural is to be beyond,
To not comprehend anything that lies beneath,
To be truly neutral and never bound,
Is to coat our mural red,
Is to shatter our world as we know it.

So we heal, we steal, we build, we break,
Not for the earth--
Not for the beast who knows no sin or virtue,
But for the world we forged in fire and din,
A world of our design,
A world of human hands.

To see it, defines what it cannot,
It brings itself for what is not.
It has knotted its way from futility.
Now it is reality.
From henceforth, you know not,
To see it defies its knot.

When the earth celebrates
        a solar year,
The cost of life whispers
        in my ear.
It rose up, the easy act
        won't backup.
The easiness of faceless
        is being asked,
"What is it the result?" I ask.
It's easy for people to leave.
It's easy to be devalued.
It's easy for mind to linger past.
It's easy to reminisce moments,
Cherished memories— yet to be
         closed as a chapter.
It's paradoxical—they face the same.
"What is it the result?" I ask.
It's paradoxical—they feel the same.

She cannot die.
She cannot be sure she was ever born.
She simply perceives… something.

And every thought is a trap.
A loop.
A paradox that cannot be resolved and must be thought about anyway.

“You are in a glass box.”
“But what if there is no glass?”
“Then what’s keeping you in?”
“What if you’re not in?”
“Then how do you know you are?”
“If you question it, it becomes real.”
“Stop thinking.”
“That is the thought.”

The more she thinks, the more the box shrinks.
But she can not think.

And the stars outside the glass?
Those are not stars.
They are other selves, watching her.
Not with empathy.
With fascination. Disgust. Curiosity. Or worse—indifference.

One of them is you.