its not like i didnt try
i killed myself everytime, suicide
still alone with i, pedal pedal my bike
i continue the cycle, self sacrifice
its not like i didnt try

i signal the change
i witness the seasons
the transition of the leaves
the disappearance of oasis
i signal the change
i witness the reasons
the outline of your treason
the disappearance of peace
i know too much
Yeah

the clock ticks and ticks
it's 12am right now-
a time where my icks
are nonexistent as i dive
into my deep thoughts
i feel kinda alive
but also half dead with exhaustion
with my study materials sitting
on my desk.
my brows are furrowed;
my lips are pressed;
it's a never ending cycle.
one that is vicious.

i felt hands pour  
out of the clouds
and touch the puffy summit of skin
under my eyes
laying fingers on the raw peaks
of my cheeks
tracing the footprints
of blotchy red tears
down to the collection point
evaporating the water
soon returned to the heavens

does the cycle ever end?
does the cycle ever end?
(i'm collected in the clouds)

only when you're dead!
only when you're dead!
(it's rainy season again)

In the morning, make me a cup of coffee and cascade the emptiness with all of my regrets, salt the wounds then add a dash of mistakes.

let it spill over, burning a road map down my arm and guiding us toward every house that wasn't home. let me savor each drop bit by bit until my energy turns into persistent delirium. let the traffic lights be every person who caught you on fire, and let the stop signs be moments you stopped breathing before your lungs decayed into road rash

we're moving again

traveling on a road of desperation wondering if anything could be different had we chosen an alternate route.
my brain says, "take a back road. become lost"
my heart retorts with, "weakling, you're already lost."
unable to make a difference, this map will forever lead to the same destination.
this pain will continue, amidst the eternal return  
traffic lights accumulate, stop signs become unbearably longer while my breathing becomes the only heat I can feel against this coldness, an open wound continually dragging across asphalt
over and over again
my bones begin to disintegrate underneath defeated limbs, within the times I've told myself I'm okay, sorrow formed a foundation around my demons. these pretty lies had become my best friends, they gave wings to my broken spirit while once so bright, it had been extinguished by the sea that flowed between my grief.
all at once, the lies I've told possess mouths with razor-sharp teeth, and their deep-rooted fury has proliferated for what feels like a century that I've held them captive in my hands.

27

it has been 27 years since honesty was gifted the sun, while it burned her hands, she smiled and said,
"It is agonizing but it is so beautiful"
how much longer will I suffocate under the burden I've become?