the things I wanna see
the things I wanna be
the fragrance and what seems to appear
when my mind creates what isn't there
just look away and feel no despair
i'll never be anything to "you"
no that I know you, I actually have no clue

and my mind will rot away,
discovering more to know less
what I dine for is never sane
at least for you, your at one point quenched
but for me, the drive is from getting lost
I always thirst for more

out of ignorance once I bore
a cup of sand I once held
the gratitude I had was hidden from my conscience
but one day I stumbled upon a beach
the sand in my hand
no longer the same for me
I tried dropping the sand into its place
I observed a rejection of tension
I switched what was in my cup
I couldn't bear no more
I need a sand box
I need more
even if I owned one though
it could only be no more to me
this pattern of reality
it crinkles me as I can't live without it

we've been fighting over the same things for thousands of years
religion, money, power, land
things that keep us separate
things that keep us fighting

keeping us in the dark

shouldn't we have realized by now
that categorizing humans stagnates progression

because when you're blinded by

ego
hate
ignorance

"differences"

how will you know which direction is forward?

What makes us different
can not compare
to reasons we're the same.

we're the same, don't they understand?

'they' love
we love

'they' pretend salt water has never flooded their eyes
and us,
well, we pretend too.

And though we have yet to see their tears,
and they have yet to notice ours

the blind can still feel
the blind can still listen
the blind can still hope
the blind can still pretend

Pretending we don't all shut our eyes every night,
hoping things will be alright.

hoping blindly
they/us/we
will open our eyes tomorrow

and stop fighting those who love and cry like us.
Realize how alike we humans are.

tell me why it's been two years and my heart still hasn't caught up with my head. it beats so fast i'm surprised i'm not dead and i can't decide if it stops or beats faster when  i hear your voice at 4am. the sunrise still looks just like the colors in your left eye and the only difference is that the sun goes away at night but you stay awake in my thoughts. everything reminds me that we could actually be something real and the worst part is that it's up to me but my heart isn't strong enough to take that risk a second time or should i say a fifth or sixth or seventh time. then again maybe you never left in the first place. maybe my heart isn't behind, but my head is just too far forward to be able to see what it's passing up. maybe you've been here the whole time.

The same old, same old
A story retold
with different settings each time
but ultimately identical
each story indistinguishable
so I'm skeptical
when you say this time will be different
because each time it's the same crime
anger and bitterness entwined
making a swine of you
and I'm pass the point of wanting to rewind
this story does not have a linear start to finish
But rather a never never ending circle
a pattern stuck on repeat
recycling itself on to its circular life
the external of the circle may change but the internal is still the same infernal circle.
immortal in its own way.
yesterday's sad melody,
with new ornamentation
but same motif throughout.
Ergo,
the same sorrow that swallows me up so I may wallow in this hollow feeling,
feasting like a beast on the self pity
that's festering away in the ruins of my broken mind like an unnatural disaster.
and I don't want a plaster to fix it
cause as soon as I put it on it'd only be ripped off again.
Useless and pointless against the repetition of unending pain
the same old, same old

Thy repeated endless cycle
Of dawn the new start
And of dark the end of old
But ever the same despair
On a continuous motion of light and dark
The sense of being nothing more than a rag
Torn and tattered
Oh will there be a day!
To not be used for
To clean the filth of others
Or belittled to feed others egos
alas!
No!
Thy cycle shall reign once again
And time wont mend the wounds
That of a torn rag

At first
I thought my insanity left
But instead
my sanity came;