As the rain trails down the window,
Each droplet either standing alone,
or conjoining to form a stream.
Shadowed faces blur and shift,
as the river of souls pours into the train,
a moving gallery of stories
half-told, half-missed.

A woman with tired hands,
fingers ink-stained, smudging the page.
She writes in loops and pauses,
sorting through words that don’t yet exist.
A letter unsent? A memory unfinished?
Her lips move as if whispering to a ghost.

A man grips his suitcase tight,
knuckles white against the worn leather.
He checks the lock, once, twice, again,
he checks his ticket once, twice, thrice, again,
breathes in, breathes out—but it isn’t steady.
Is he running toward something,
or away?
Perhaps both feel the same.

A teenager watches the world smear past,
but their eyes are set inwards,
fixed on the watch in their palm,
a gift too heavy for their wrist,
but heavier still in meaning.
What used to be the time keeper of stories,
now only keeps the time for the last moments shared.
A whisper of "Take care now,"
a trembling wrinkled hand pressing it into theirs,
a last look before the train doors closed.

Behind them, the station fades,
a figure stands in the cold rain,
hand raised, but never quite waving,
face blurred by glass and distance.
They do not turn back.
Because turning back means hoping,
and hope makes leaving unbearable.

And I—just another reflection,
half-seen in the trembling glass,
a passing ghost among the living,
watching, never known.

An itch of an inch – scratching to reach that place we once
walked; it was almost the measure of love; with elevating
conversations that led to a level of trust. Now wearing linen
divorce clothes, to separate the time that wore us down; as I
carried a smile in a frown; as we all plant a seed of respect we
have for others, hoping in due time it flourishes.

But trust me, winter is loveless – summer is the state of your
heart, where the sun still longs to shine even when it’s hidden
behind the clouds. Love is needless, to those who only respond
by the own feelings; looking for someone just to entertain them,
by only giving them a good feeling.

As all my bones break in despair; at the sound of the skeletons,
I must break in my closet – my soul shakes like the trees caught
in a storm; with electric branches. I’ve been struck down; made
to be someone with no passion, no meaning, or digression.
Passive-aggressive – only out of annoyance; for an inch of my
life, revolves around entertaining people who show pieces of
their true colours, and still expect me to act colourblind.

How they offend my sight!

Lately I've been feeling
Disconnected from the world
It seems such a dreadful place
It feels far away from home

So I come to my safe haven
Read and write for hours
Write and read some more
And I know I'm not alone

For I get to see each of you
The outcasts, the weirdos
The misfits, the poets...
But above all, the kind

My little beacons of hope...
My people

I’m seven steps away from Heaven, in a world where I’m a corner
away from the Devil – so if I give into these pressures, it means I'll
give myself into these earthly pleasures. But the world still gives
a toast to your efforts, as it calls you, "so toast," in your present.
As I've been around the mundane of numerous dead conversations,
decomposing in a grave. But only when there’s something on the
lines, does talk among fools hold a grave importance.

Still, bring me flowers as if it where my day, as I plan to be a letter
at the cemetery – with the wisdom I gained, to share. My whole life
would be these songs written as poems; trapped in my pen as a
snare; while the beating of heart’s passion plays on like a snare.

And there, where there are people who care for us; it's only in death
will we know those who were good at pretending their love for us.
And I’ll find those lovers, chained to each other like slaves – and I'll
give the sweetest dreams to the fearful bunch, whose beds act as their
trial runs to their graves.

Whereas we all live just to die someday, which will be one day –
yet we take this life day by day, making the most of them, like it
were your very last day; the day will eventually come. Still, what’s
to income for us, is what will become our action's outcome. Death
isn’t something you can run from, buy your way from, or delay any
longer for anyone – yet we must live life, remembering that His will
is always done.

When I try to connect to another,
I quickly discover,
That our worlds couldn’t be more separate from each other.
It’s not that hard to uncover,
And it makes me wonder,
Are our lives just mindless inside our bubbles?

Overhearing conversations,
Is a fascinating endeavor,
One I would recommend.
Without interventions,
They’ll keep on talking forever,
Without an end.
You may start to understand,
That the world’s quite bigger,
Than we can wrap our heads around.
It may be hard to comprehend,
With all of the triggering,
Surrounding sounds.

I’m in a different atmosphere,
In my bubble,
Waiting to be discovered.
Not yet in the biosphere,
Of another,
That’s a journey on its own.
Watching my exosphere,
As people pass by like comets,
Without a second thought.
A dwarf planet,
Floating aimlessly,
Contemplating,
My atmosphere,
Slowly thinning.

Listening,
To people talk about their lives,
And their strifes,
Totally different all the time.
The pinnacle of misery for any given day to me,
Could be I got a paper cut that caused me to bleed.
But what do I hear occasionally when someone shares their lives?
“Hey, my dog just died…”
Fires off as loudly as a gun,
Breaking reality underneath my feet,
Questioning if they’re just looking for sympathy,
Or empathy,
To comfort them in their time of need.

Our problems can seem so large,
To us,
Yet, comparatively to another,
They’re so minute.
Some people feel like when they wake,
It’s another day just to lose,
While others add to their bruises,
Just what they needed.
Lack of consideration,
Or spatial awareness,
Contributing to,
All of our stress.

Perhaps people are vastly different than me,
On certain things,
For one, most got their driver’s license just as they turned sixteen,
But that wasn’t a personal priority,
I need to become less jittery, first,
One thing at a time.
Most people are far more social than I’ll ever be,
Probably my biggest insecurity,
Is whether I,
Talk too much or too little,
Say anything that’s worth the listen.
Some friends adore going out,
Scouring the town,
And spending time with each other,
And if you don’t, it’s hard to recover.
I want a friendship where the person understands the way I am,
Before the butterfly can fly it needs a suitable environment.

I’m in an alien atmosphere,
Hoping to be noticed,
Hurt when it doesn’t come to pass.
Dreaming about experiencing the biosphere,
Of others,
And making memories that last,
Many years.
Gazing at my exosphere,
As the comets fly past,
Knowing that I’ll find my way at last.
Space has a lot of space,
And statistically and certainly,
There’s a habitable planet for me.
So I can circle it like a moon does,
Form a meaningful bond,
As we both are assaulted by the sun.

Just have to wait,
A common theme of life,
I’ll quicken my sorrowful gait,
Because I want to see what lies in the light…

Teeth in a lace; tying up my smiles towards pleasurable faces –
I’m a bit tied for time, to be walking in someone else’s shoes.
While staring in the mirror, it feels like a person I had known
before. Waking up from a dream to the first breath after Sleep;
the cousin of Death

My tears have stained my bed, while I know all my resting fears –
and for the love you can afford, pay attention to a love mate you
meet; for we love spending more time buying into their dreams.
As I know the woman of my dreams isn’t the one I’ll find so
easily in all my sweetest dreams.

I stay awake most days, piecing together the most sensitive parts
of me – love me partly, but don’t invite me to love you more than
God – for Hell births the longest party, burning away all of those
lost souls.

As I assemble the fragments of my being; now whole—I embraced
solitude; in coupled fears. We coexist within the longing and craving
of love. We're so afraid of the possibility of never discovering it, yet
even more terrified of losing it all in a fleeting moment – we do long
to walk in other people’s shoes, of those who’ve figured how to tie
the knot; united in matrimony.

I have found them, once or twice.
A search that lasts for all my life.
Sorrow comes from such small numbers.
But the finding happens more as I wander.

I have found them. They have spoken.
They are aliens, but not from space.
Solar silence they have broken.
Voice of sunshine, ray of hope in this darkened world.
To light a path, or a hurtful past. I climb my way out at last.

I have found them.
They surround when
I call out into the night.
When I am truthful, when I set right
the seating of my heart
the beating tears apart
a door that stood for all of time, the eternity of the past.
And now the cold is in
it's this thing, it's fast.
Like crystal lightening,
it's heightening my senses,
and numbing the frightening memories of past offences.

I have found them, my forlorn friends.
My fickle feelings.
Their weary voices, honest.
An echo still believing.
Together we talked, words held forever.
I have found them.
And never will they leave me.