There’s a film that covers these eyes,
I swear they’re for someone else, exempt.
What passes through them flips in real time.
I’m seeing the world, but not as it’s meant.

I squint tightly and then I try to focus,
But when I look, things are foreign and bleak.
Reality delays, shifting right out the gate—
Most likely to no one else living but me.

My hands feel elastic, they extend too far,
Like they belonged to someone that flew.
I only know I exist by the scars—
As I constantly move but never move.

I talk, but my voice feels mechanic,
Like chewing tinfoil by planned mistake.
Each word I say is a rented sound,
A dial tone that belongs to my ache.

The people pass like afterglow—
They laugh like old, distorted cassettes,
The ones that sound like a broken record
Stuck on the song I need to forget.

I wear my face like costume paint—
A cracked veneer. No, I can't explain.
Its smiles are crooked; they fold and break,
Like it only exists for perception’s sake.

The mirror, it flinches when I start to pace.
My reflection’s hand, not clenched like my fist—
It seems we’re confused with our actual space,
Two ghosts unsure that exist.

The mirror, it paces. Making me flinch.
It seems we’re confused as to who owns the space,
My reflection’s hand is clenched but not mine.
Two ghosts unsure why we're sharing a face.

I etched your name into the constellations
I branded the night sky with your silent glow
Every minute burned me like stars burning traces
But it was worth it and I knew the sky was yours to hold.

Above forgotten graves, there are stone monuments.
The empty silence that has now become the paradigm
Vibrating quietly, they're becoming truly cosmic.
Screaming stars trapped in the sore throat of time

I sewed your shape into the fabric of my lasting ache
You crystallized into the patterns of my stale grief.
Between seconds memories don't seem to ever age
They hum the sad hymns within the sorrow of our dreams.

I once believed that pain would bring my longing rebirth
And mold the scattered ash of all the things that left me numb
But not every storm reshapes the sky or realigns the earth
Some cyclone with the dreams of all we never could become

Not every void is meant for our emotions or our thoughts
But write the cosmic order underneath the feet of trust.
Remind me of the places I've searched for forgotten gods
And the meaning in their stillness for the meaning in the rust.

Seeking answers from divinity frozen within the rot
But I found only reflections of a voice lost from its mold
Just a velvet shadowed shrine mingled into clots.
Caught between the moments when we fought to feel whole

Somewhere lost in space and you're the only one left
Remember the nameless deities we let remain unsaid
Intersecting years with all the gods that we invented
Who wait in muffled synapses where memory is met

And whisper in the cracks of our unraveling existence
Your echoes never sleep, my name's never been written out.
I'm from a deeper silence that still feeds the kinetic
Remembered only by tongues that never spoke my name aloud

We are held by hands that sculpted meaning into being
With everything we never had the courage to become
I speak not to the earth but to the silence that's beneath it
Scriptures burn with dying light. The pulse that beats the drum

Time itself cracks and fractures in this violent dream
As it trembles whispering the truth that morphs too fast
Left between our promise I feel fractures in the beams
Louder than all words pushed through the cries or all the laughs

The end begins to loop and spirals into treacherous gallows
Never quite taking form pretending to be brighter
My soul unravels as it begins chasing your shadow
I believe the search for meaning only binds us tighter

Each thread another layer of truth or just a wrought hope.
Entangled in the quantum thread that tightens as it loosens
To find what's real we search the silence in methods to cope.
To pull the clarity from what they call our failed illusions.

The air is present, but off in weight—
It breathed beneath my dragging tread.
Each step mistook itself for fate,
My inner voice spoke, “Don't breathe, instead.”

The moon, it winked, then turned to ash—
Its glow, a trick. An enchanted claim.
The sidewalk split like I had crashed,
a static god without a name.

The faces turned but couldn’t track
my bent proportions, preset loops.
We saw each other—witnessed lack—
their auras steamed like data soup.

The neighbor outside was made of code,
his mumbles stitched with minor flaws.
He walked a lagging, crooked load—
a hologram without a cause.

My name collapses if spoken twice,
a sound that doesn’t mean a thing.
Identity—just loaded dice
thrown blind across a buffering screen.

Store signs were different at second glance—
one blink and “Pharmacy” was “Control.”
The cars reversed their motion trance,
passing through buildings they'd passed just before.

The pigeons froze mid-flight like glass,
then shattered the moment they caught my eye.
She glitched—revealing skin’s disguise—
and smiled with teeth she didn't try.

My arms were pulsing with phantom blood,
my ribs were cords I couldn’t play.
Each thought I had was owned by flood—
I feared that death would find its way.

The walls were off-white, shaped oblong,
they fluxed with math beneath the paint.
This world’s too smooth, too clean, too long—
its holiness grown dim and faint.

So, I became something unglued,
a breach inside the program’s lie.
Not mad—just deeply over clued,
I feel—I know—that nothing dies.

This room was taught to hold its breath,
When I return through sideways doors.
It never asks for confessions or depth—
Just witnesses how silence feels as thorns.

The world outside is daytime hinged.
But my world was stitched in neon dusk.
A phantom fang lives deep within
And bites each time I build my trust.

I move in patterns, accidentally bound—
In rituals of coping that lasted too long.
The hours know where I'll be found—
Beside myself, unwillingly wrong.

The ***** laundry I clean but don't.
A second shadow nailed at my heel.
The lamp that needs a light disagrees.
Between being fake and being who I feel.

I keep it clean—or clean enough—
My eyes are dry; my voice is clear.
My morbid truth, dressed in common fluff.
Always finds a way to disappear.

The soul—if that’s still something I hold—
Is brined in need, like selfish sin.
This isn’t wanted or considered bold.
  It's survival masquerading as skin.

I never meant to dig this much,
My lack of harmony buried in song.
But a body that's balanced upon a crutch
Is still a body—just not as strong.

I’ve made a friend with myself detached,
Though he eats a lot more than he feeds.
Whispers like he knows he's an accident.
This teaches me, what my own silence means

The habits aren't even the worst of me—
It’s what remains when they're gone.
The way my lungs choose not to breath.
Choosing not to breathe all on their own.

So, I exist in the lowercase,
Half-typed and never quite complete.
But even glitches need their place—
So here I am, on loop. On repeat…

With the stillness of the void, I failed to exist.
My silhouette ripped away flesh from its mist.
My silence, my shelter, this singular state.
It whispers the paradox of truths in my fate.

In these depths of thought, as righteous as my sin,
Another me was synced into the symphony within.
This void, was a canvas. Our souls were the art.
Revealing dualities of my mind and heart.

Synchronized, and pure, we could finally sing.
I've longed for the closure I knew it would bring.
Here in the black where I'm vanished, I'm whole.
Past the infinite horizon, the home of my soul.

This silence, we keep so our secrets can dwell.
'Til the day we escape from the gates of our hell.
We are tethered at the soul. We exist hand in hand.
Protecting an existence no one would understand.

In the quiet of my conscience, you'll find the true me.
As infinitely clean as the energy I'll be.
In the realm I create to keep my heart from the cold.
Where my dreams hold the proof, I'll eternally grow.

In sync with my conscience, from the void, hums a tune.
It called me from beyond the dark side of the moon
And as I would chase, I'd no longer feel.
Heard a whisper from above say, "Reality is not real."

Then, I felt the earth breathe in my synchronized state.
Two souls blend as one, we now share the same fate.
Our emotions fly freely in the nothing. Enigmatic.
We embrace the obscure. We are lost in the static.

In quantum subconscious, the dark and light blend.
Showing every shade of me as one with no end,
Not dull and not bright. Not filthy nor clean.
There's black and white, we both exist there, in between.

Our silence, it screamed. Ripped fabric grew seams.
As sleepless as I am, in this void, I have dreams.
I whisper line the ether, that whispers to me.
Escaping all that is, to embrace all that will be.

Without need for understanding or firm beliefs,
I silently listened as the universe speaks.
I've seen another me in the nothing. Enigmatic.
Living in the obscure, he found a home in my static.

Adrift in between—the breath and the break.
Muffled by silence. The real feels fake.
Visible ghosts pay invisible costs—
In search of myself, I found myself lost.

A stranger arrives. Identity wanes.
We share the same pulses that surge through my veins.
Observe my duality—tell me, who's true?
The body you saw, or the energy you knew?

Without the observer, I'm held out of phase.
I fill empty space—with more empty space.
You glanced in my direction, collapsed me to light.
I fell into being, from quantum-bound heights.

Euphoria sleeps. I dread my own wake.
Time ticks while I shake and my thoughts dissipate.
Here I am again—my lowest of highs.
Collapsed, but still standing, still living these lies.

I flicker between a phantom and soul.
Wholeheartedly hollow. I burn without glow.
The past still hums beneath thinning skin—
A whispering echo that calls out my sin.

Step in too close, or just take a look—
I quietly fold, closed up like a book.
The script rewrites its endings to shift,
As I drift, unwilling, through reality’s slit.

One path offers clean, another brings filth.
I exist just as is—your perception brings guilt.
Not welcome to be—medicate me to align.
Would you believe it’s your doubt fracturing my mind?

These moments go slow—I cope to feel new.
But each time I stitch, my seams just undo.
I’m a fracture. A wreck. Pathetically alive.
Until the next time I hide—from the gaze of your eye.