Some days I write for you,
Some days for me
Some days with a hope,
My words reach out to those in need.

In a world full of locked doors,
You hold the key to mine.

How do you expect me to
hold on to you
when I keep running from myself,
every chance I get?

around the bends of my mind
lies some memories
of uninhibited realism
of high fidelity
to myself
in letting myself go
somewhat joyous
somewhat chaotic
somewhat musical
but just there
to feel and see things
for more than what they mean
through my own eyes
seems rather unusual
but I go back in time
take a deep-dive
to recapture these ephemeral bubbles
of blissful euphoria
as if singing
to my alter ego
'We can be heroes,
just for one day
We can be us,
just for one day!'