My existence hunches on the surge of homeostasis,
Peeking through botany and paralyzed life.
These skeletons are coated with flesh, fluid, and cells,
An integument the size of my being in spitting distance,
Admitting natural flaws with debeaked drains and
Demonstrating actual emotion with rearranging face.
Narrow wings without sails are flapping noodled,
Desperately escaping living reality into paradise
In the black eyes which can travel with no hesitation,
Development always unfulfilled at clipped appendages.
An ordinary watcher devours the ghost souls in limbo;

Gravity      allows a wallflower               to soar away                         through                                              diverse emptiness.

It’s true that I get all wrapped up in myself
And I can’t help but feel all unwound
But give me a chance
And I’ll break out a dance
And worm my way into your heart.
But be careful when I am in there.
It’s true that I’ll do it again.
And then when you fall,
I’ll leap over a wall
And pretend that we never had danced.

I noodled my childhood,
Glued it on some diary
Spooks overflowed
And came out suddenly.

With monarchic wings,
And petal eyes
Gazed back, and pinged.
I succumbed twice.

"Whatever you wrote is a lie"
Confronted one roaring voice
It disappeared in pages again
I started to feel calm, at ease.


I gave it another shot, recalled,
I had seen him somewhere before,
'Did we meet in childhood?'
Question banged on my door


Of course, "No".
I never met him before,
How can I forget,
I never had a childhood!