Oh illusion can be so glorious
Love one of the greatest of all
He is everything EVERYTHING
was my world...
illuding me into a world of wonders
you ***** I'm not oblivious!
...I think the washer is broken.

Its the line we all dread to hear
and once the card is on the table
everyone screams *******
but in some cases
it holds true
I was always the one to step in my
own way
preying upon my mind
illuding myself at every turn
I regret this matter it leaves me cold
shivering at what people may have felt
left wondering in an after thought
But I can assure you it was never you
it was my twisted mind and bent will

I wear a love-proof vest, swallowing bullets with my face—
all my scars know their taste. My hopes are all on diet to fit
today’s problems; spray-painted days, worries tagged across
the night— each thought a vandalism I can’t scrub away.

Fruitful passions, I can’t stomach passionfruit in my punch.
Life loves to punch back harder— each sip a reminder that
sweetness still bruises. Young & depressed: insecurities
overdressed, confidence underdressed, thoughts pressed
into stress.

Life asks you for a ruler, to lay it down smoother, measuring
the depth of your love. But... it doesn’t apply so well to me,
when I bunked a few lessons as a day-schooler. Always trying
to fit in by being cooler, amongst a circle of friends, but really,
we were just squares— boxed in by our insecurities; angles
sharper than the bonds we bent. And I try to pray long—
but sometimes, I digress. Sorry… what were we saying?

So much emptiness, schemes plotted against me, reality
never stretching as far as dreams. Illuding the fact, illusions
often feel more real. Interluding between horizons: am I ahead,
or beneath the dark where even stars are too shy to come out?

Hope still comes as a guest. Still wishing for superpowers:
invisible to pain, invincible to scars, shapeshifting to belong.
Force fields to block their touch. Time manipulation— just to
keep up with the times. X-ray vision to see through their false
intentions. Superspeed to outrun the pain. Healing to undo my
shame.

But in the end, I have no cape, no mask, no trick of the pen—
I'm only human. And I’ll be human to the end, recalling the
feeling of being young & depressed.

The beauty of cold breeze watching the shores, with it carrying infinite memories of long lost dreams. Moments of freedom forgotten by the whole. Dreams by souls once written on tree trunks lies washed in debris on white beaches, destroyed by profit and greed.

The ocean like mood swings holds promises of a once sparkle clear sea, with islands on the horizon and the moon peaking through the gorge.  With it hinting perfection, like the ones reminded by photographs.

While the moon cheering its audience shines with grandeur embracing the presence of the conscious souls in search of happiness.

A happiness completely defined, a happiness thought by society illuding the majority and reassured by profit.  

photograph of the last summer, lingers like stars in the sky, with no relation to the present, as so many memories are tied through this long life journey already lived, already felt. none may ever feel the same, nor would it ever be seen the same, like a leaf left under a tree, through a long winter night.