i'm like when 2 am ferociousness met with 5 am alarm
smudged off the **** nuance off the corner of my lips in the dark

back home, drained, phone lighting up except it's not who i missed
make changes, perfect the scars — wipe out the traces that exist
feels like a music video, no cameras anywhere in sight
but i feel them watching, and with every reflex i hope to hide

multiple versions like blind spots behind the walls
were the masks always as potent as planned for them was?

surreal sometimes, watching it slip
i pull the cloak over, can't let it flip
for even a second, for it carries my whole identity
if they truly saw — saw truly for who i am
i don't think they'd even recognize me
faking pills, anti-calamides, the entirety of my existence
look at pictures on my walls, to lose grip over any remaining hesitance

it's in stages
when it happens
undoing my skin, zipping it down and stepping out to breathe
during the nights when it gets as real as it can
i look at my wardrobe, it's filled with masks
who should i be for the day? choosing is a dire task
one that i must achieve, tally all the previous repeats
and it's never the same — midway through, i have to tear myself apart to hold my coop

signs, watch for them
like ants leaving behind a trail to follow
dropping crumbs even tho all they wish to do is swallow
can't carry it all, no matter how much they can borrow
there's moments when it flickers
everything bare just for a second and the world seems to hold
as if waiting, hide it away — telling me — hide yourself whole
this is your chance, run, or settle down
wait, or burn yourself out
extinguishing a flame is impossible when you give the oxygen
give it all to aggravate
in the end, how dare u cry for all the mess it made?
can't kiss the flame, why get close to it in the first place?

there's rainbow fumes slipping through the blacks
the radio playing the album's sixth track
the board up says take right
but there's a figure standing right midway
vision turning bright red, it flashes white
x-rays me through, i can't see the eyes
but they tell me a tale i've long since held
been rotting in the prison for so long
even the wind seems to snap

your eyes speak
like butterflies held in watery imagery
like that one store open 24/7 for the hungry
resembling a payphone hanging off its cord
the voice echoing, "knock knock knock"
you loom in between the dimensions
almost floating, with dragonflies in your palms
stretched out towards me
there's a puddle of rainwater on the ground
a gas burner bright blue and white in the faded background
the screens flash with errors and figures
they walk past, like fishes swimming in an aquarium
the neons slip through the eyes
irises fading into a silvery crash
thousands of people drift by
barely a hundred holding hands
distance separates, time forgives
forgetting is like looking deep into the liminal
knowing there's no ending to this beginning

the streets aren't all too familiar
the buildings carry lives that speak
their windows tell stories — a dozen different endings
the sunshine falls a certain way
creating grey memories across the streets
do shadows overlap each other?
multiple questions — the answers to which lie in the mist

i could scan your eyes
find the me's that exist, see if u see me the way i do
check for pictures in your wallet, in your camera
in your feed, in your head — on your body, on you
but knowing i can't describe it all
describe them for you, i can't seem to stand tall
i'm afraid for you, seeing you walk out
is perhaps the best chance i can take
but a miserly one at that, it's a coward's mistake

should i count them out?
on fingers, i'd say just three
there's more — but facets to multiple sympathies
the major ones though, i call them the protectors

one exists — borderline deceitful
never aiming to hurt, keeping peace closed off
in a loophole, almost
living in boundaries
closed off, hiding in plain sight
having created doors, windows nailed shut
speaking in controversies
it preaches to protect the soul

there's another —
the publicised centre
lives empathetically
provides requests, hearing pleading
walking epiphanies
the bored, tired, sleepy version
meeting eye to eye
smile for smile
never faking, but never loosening the knots either
tie the loose ends just right

the remaining, the original
is a psychological art house
chaotic, musing, no doubt in the dark clouds
writing warfare of the minds
speaking soft, almost gullible
closest, truest, no boundaries like the previous
she lives as she breathes
grief filled in the soul
with a happy-to-go personality
i believe she's the one
except she hides beneath all that is dust
drifting through the mess she's become
it's calming, silent, wrecking havoc amidst
stench of sugar, candied crushes and humor
psychic tutorials, rafting rows of water
she lives in nightmares,
daydreams — almost as if there were none

you wish for someone to understand you
to be by your side
even if he does nothing
just stay there so you don't feel lonely
when world tears you apart
he breath the same air as you do
if he cant do something better
just stay there and do nothing
you always wish for someone
to be there for you with you
and when you find no one
you go on a hunt
to find that one
or you completely abandon yourself
and let devil take over you
either you go see other and heal other
or you see other and hurt other
for if you are a kind one
you will choose the right
or if you are a thorny one
you will lick ones wound
for you think
what happened with you was unfair
so neither you live in ease
neither you let them
you dont let go
and hold your void like
your breaths depends on it

This didn’t happen overnight,
pushed all boundaries out of sight.
Don’t know their next step but it can’t be right.
Their grubby hands covering your eyes,
wicked tongues whispering blatant lies.
No confirmation for their alibis.

If a group of like minded people
can storm the Capital why not a steeple?
A sanctuary that’s built for predators.
For those who stormed Capitol Hill
why can’t they now go in for the ****?
Maybe too busy running from creditors.
I’m just so annoyed with the American void.

So many questions all over a vote;
they tried to mutiny like on a boat,
but now not asking why there’s no note.
With all those riots that were in the street,
willing to take a bullet or join the line to be beat,
no asking why someone special got an extra sheet.

If a group of like minded people
can defeat police then why not the bald eagle?
Just another symbol for freedom and justice’s joke.
For those who stormed Capitol Hill
does it not drive you crazy to now stay still?
Maybe too distracted by the war of Pepsi vs Coke.
I’m just so annoyed with the American Void.

If people can go missing why can’t files,
same with pedophiles and certain isles?
It’s funny how they gave away,
the ones we already knew what they’d say.
If people can go missing why can’t files,
same with pedophiles and their trials.
It’s funny how they gave away,
the records of JF & ML K.

Apparently there’s a minute missing every night
I guess we know when the time to strike is right.

Never to be known,
a woman’s scorn,
how a man mourns.

Gone into the void,
Her being coy,
A boy becomes a man.

A pair,
to share despair,
from windows,
wiped clean,
from those,
who need to grow,
before they turn old,
and rot away,
bitter and cold.

Scents, traces: the ant

has mapped the big white bathtub --


its infinity.

Human beings,
Akin closest to the creatures of the void,
As we consume.
Dictates of wrath falling from our hands,
Onto tablets of conversational truth.

I am conscious,
I think and do,
Still I consume too.

Leeching off the fuel writing gives me,
I run, an engine breaking through rocky walls,
Testing the boundaries of inspirational energy.
Aching with the feeling of being restrained,
Tortured by carrying,
Some few echoes of truth.

I’ve loved satin and lace for a long time, yet believed I was too rugged to enjoy such luxury. That being draped by something that feels like butter on a porcelain vase desecrates its sanctity. I was never meant for such grandeur, as I am made of stone. Coarse, menacing, and hard. Such gentleness doesn’t befit an ever-destructive chaos. I was a whirlwind romance, a cacophony of squawking ravens and crows, a relentless repetition of echoes in the caving mountains, a disastrous flair in an illicit affair.  A damsel and the prince, the one who saves her own soul from eternal damnation. Yet. I was taught softness once. How I can be a gentle breeze from the northerlies, like a lily pad floating on a laminar stream, or a dandelion fluttering in the breeze. But this softness was robbed. From me, from everything else. Returning me to the state I came to hate the most, to shy away from, to loathe and bury like a cadaver that reeked of nothing but ill intent. Which made me realize that this time there was no turning back, that I was calloused now, permanently. Transforming a learning heart into a plethora of evil and demise. A gatherer of sorrows, a charmer of guilt. A benign tumor, a tactless joke. What’s harder is that there’s no clear road to return.