Hold your ideas.
Hold your breath.
Hold your space..
Hold it close before the chains rock away.
The turn signal becomes a warning of a breach of trust.
I trusted one, but another came and flew away.
To the lights, I have lost and glimpsed another trust.
The paper was once who I was in the world.
The space that keeps moving on from frame to frame.

I can bare that the world won’t survive without art.
Without poems or poetry of all kinds.
Of people’s sufferings mixed into the frame.
The art of all music is not ever forgotten.
Nor can it be restored, if one lost it.
I lost the drive to do things, the break to complain.
The opportunities I allow to slip up, all because I was me.
I was picking and choosing myself for all my stakes.
I saw my components and composure, filled the core of replacement.

The deep end of learning becomes an environment of survival.
A talent for coldness and a posture for numbing.
I wish you knew how I longed to stay.
How I change my journey path just to be far away.
Just to be distanced and framed on a wall far away from yours.
Ah. The breath I take isn’t the same with the smile plastured on my face.
The art I take away.
The puppets I bleed and pray under conditions.
Circumstances unchanged and mellowed through the walls.

I am an artist..
A walking skeleton.
A feather in feat of my actions. 
I am me..
A soulless bird.