A ceaseless motion
hither and yonder
like the jumbling of blind ants
in a narrow path
of wet pheromones.

Backbreaking labor
A cruel slaver
lashing his whip
that cracks painfully
drawing blood from the back
of the hapless wretch.

A joke that amuses no one
An insufferable itch
demanding to be scratched
so hard that it bleeds

Then in a moment
snuffed.

Asphyxiated and forgotten.

There are certain emotions I am unable to process
They’ve left me suffocated. They cause me to stress
Stress over things that might be of no value in the near future
But it is now; they make me feel like I am a complete loser
These emotions go tough on my body but they flow with ease as I bleed on paper
And the feelings I once had for people I loved, are depleting layer by layer.

They told me to pick up the knife
That with it I’d be able to break the chains keeping me to the ground
And cut the rope holding my throat to the ceiling
So I wrapped my fingers around the cold metal
Only to feel a sharp sting as hot fire poured from my palm onto the concrete floor
But I didn’t let go
Even though I had grabbed hold
Ever so tightly
Of the wrong end

have you ever wondered why the sky turns gray when it rains?
well, in every creature, there is darkness, and there is light.
and when you start to give up the fight,
the fight for happiness, love, life, when you start to lose hope,
the darkness starts to bleed into your light. but it's okay.
the color can come back. first, ask to talk to someone.
ask them to listen.
then, hold nothing back. don't stop until you understand
how you feel. what you want.
don't worry. it's not selfish to talk about it.
not to the people who care about you.
it will take time, but if you do this, someday, a rainbow will come shining through

Must there be the voice of an old man
To be inspired by wisdom?
Must there be intelligible words
To guess out the intention?
Must there be vulnerability
To presume the proper truth?

　　There ain’t a single channel
　　On the interface of dialogue.

Must we lie only in whispers
To keep hurt under the seal?
Must we sigh only in earnest
To show others where we bleed?
Must we die only in peace
To pass the torch with ease?

　　There ain’t a single channel
　　On the interface of dialogue.