Softly played music soothes
The wind howls as cars pass.
The fluorescent light shines on me.
Alone by myself, in a small room.
Paying for stress and work.
A slave of my own making.
I hope it will be worth it.

You know, I used to be happy all of the time.
What the heck happened? I used to go weeks
without crying, I used to love going to school.

In fairness, I liked real school - not the sad,
sterile, anti-social, virtual experience.

When I'm mad I get silly, then mean. I don't
always know why - angry is the answer, but
I don’t always get the subconscious analysis
behind it. That's a bad day - I'm truly sorry.

If I could step back, in those moments,
and think - clearly - I'm about the luckiest person.

I'm a hundred pounds of privilege
- if we rounding up - but pressurized,
stressed like a movie submarine in deep dive.

I think I miss people - like in an assembly
- before it starts - where a hundred conversations
clash like the random patter of rain. That’s one
of the sounds of joy.

The civilized brain is soaked in the opinions,
and shared experiences with others. These virtual,
interactive shadows on flat screens can't fill the void.

Can you feel the pressure,
Can you feel it with me,
Because every single time when i see your face,
it reminds me of how life is full of grace,

Can you feel the pressure,
Can you feel it with me,
when times get hard and our hearts are broken life seems unbearable, mistakable, and unforgettable.

Don't leave these scars on my heart,
I promise it will never fall apart.

Can you feel the pressure,
Can you feel it with me?

Funny
They can tell
When my
liver's working too hard
But they can't tell
When I'm on
Drugs

Funny
They accuse
me
of mischief
and mayhem
but they don't know I'm high
till I tell them

having the audacity
to accept the duality
of man, of time, of life
rather a causality
in itself
of things, of people, of emotions
you can finally let go
the loss of innocence
before you even know
not hopelessly muddled anymore
like the grey colour
in the middle of black and white
no more under the pressure
now off to where the air is fresher.

The pressure cracks my bones
like a lofty barrel
Weighing a top my tormented back.

My rib cage once housed a humming bird
That half dead, plague ridden thing
flew away long ago.

Sometimes my heart aches, with a pressure of an ocean of tears I never shed.
Not because I don't want to but maybe because it seems too precious to lay upon shallow ground.
My pain, my mind, my love, my grief. All things mine in a confusion and desperation unappreciated by others and therefore unnecessary to anyone but me.
I'm desperate for connection in my own nihilist way of being miserable and forlorn. I don't trust anyone, not the ones I love, not me, nothing. But I want to want to. I want to be able to. Always mid-sentence though, always reticent, in a never ending/never blooming hope.