I suppose it doesn't feel so bad
after all
this is exactly what I always expect
a pattern repeated,
regardless of the reason
it's almost a relief, almost
comfort in the known, the expected
not a new home
just a road trip stop
pulling into a familiar driveway
even if all the lights are off

One simple thought
Igniting a wildfire
One match that turns
A whole world upside down
We can pretend that it's not there
It will burn deeper
Cause it doesn't care
A domino effect
That's hard to stop
It's a blind spot
No way to grasp it,
Change it,
Make it disappear...
The more we fight,
The stronger it'll persevere,
The more alive it is,
Contagious pain
And identification
Will keep on breaking trust
And sending us
Into a black hole
Of intoxication.

I've been watching patterns in nature lately, savoring their beauty.
We are born,
unfolding,
into the world's natural grid,
painting the infinite canvas.

I finally see that we are one and the same in this cycle,
interconnected.
So different,
yet so familiar.

The trees structured like our lungs,
our veins like the vast rivers.
Our hearts pulse,
and so do the shore waves.
I look into the stars swimming in the antimatter,
and they look back at me.
Among them I see your eyes,
like two suns,
radiating warmth onto my soul,
reaching evey corner of my being.

I will never forget the time we had,
how it colored my world's canvas.

"I have a hundred photos lined up to be posted.
I edit them, I think about them, and I let them be.
I let them be in my gallery for the right time.

And the right time never comes.

Days become months, and months at times turn into years.
But the right time never comes.

I don't know why!

But it is alright!

It is alright because I am not in a race, nor am I in a hurry to tell my story.
I don't mind waiting at the stop like this bus.
I don't mind being forgotten about
Or just not talked about for days.

But I, in my own way, after making those stops, I will carve my road ahead.
Uncover the true beauty of my story
In the most unusual way.
Just like how sunlight lights up a simple road and makes patterns with the help of shadows.

Shadows have their own ways.
Shadows glorify those pretty rays.

I break my pattern
and reduce the restriction
of obsessive attention
to a particular
schedule or behavior,
because if I want to
I can do it now or later,
take the time to savor
the flavor of the moment
because I own it
and not the other way around.

This type of freedom is profound,
and easy to achieve
even though it frequently eludes.
Obsessions frequently intrude rudely
and take more time than
I care to admit to.

The world may be
very close to ending
or not,
but my life is all
that I really got,
so I will greedily
hoard my individuality
and liberty to see and perceive
that strings that seem to direct me
and sever them immediately.

Patterns everywhere, but what to foresee?
There’s Innumerable things to compare,
This OCD: a familiar bee, another tree,
If I only had the key,
Could make everyone aware,
I’m sure they would agree

Uneven roads,spilt coffee
How loathsome, how unfair,
All these patterns seem to be.
So many things to see;
And now what’s over there?
And what does it mean to me?

Their meanings flee;
Ignoring every prayer
From this humble devotee.
So now here is my decree:
I’ll renounce, forswear,
Over and over, plea and plea,
‘Til someday it lets its hold from me.