through a pane of clear glass
eyes bulging, ears straining
a silent world comes to life

poetry is the quiddity of me
it is so intertwined with my soul
that it is woven into my heart
I could never abandon this
it is my other half
it is me
words flow from my mind
and onto paper or a screen
it is part of me
poetry is the quiddity of me

“Are you okay?”

Sweetheart, I write poetry
And some kindhearted people said I write it well
…
That can only mean one thing
My mind is an unescapable hell

“Yeah, just tired”

I don’t have the 𝗘𝗻𝗲𝗿𝗴𝘆
I don’t have the 𝗧𝗶𝗺𝗲
But you’re so young, you’re at your prime

It will fly right before your eyes
What’s next?
Soon you’ll say I don't have the 𝗠𝗶𝗻𝗱

dim approaches
requiring ceremony
in the ancient ways and...
memories of civilization
the master
of us, his slaves
to worship his belief
the egodeaths
confounding books
neither finding nor forwarding the mark
book ended
in ireland
or china
the point
is that, behind you
your kingdom is full of dead you's

the cost of your suicides
that you would against them
learn only from yourselfish

your selfish childish fun

Where am I runnin' to,
Where is this world comin' to,
What kinda bangs am I jumpin' to,
What doors will I be bustin' through,
Be good cause I'll be trustin' you,
What burning bridges will I be duckin' through,
Who will I be becomin' into in the future to come?