writing is easy
when your heart is in the lead
your mind in the back
of itself
i guess
but as soon
as something happens
worth writing
my brain says
i told you so
crosses the line
my heart left
in the back this time
locked away
bleeding
along with
the pen
as i run
out
of
ink

Locked-down, feet to the ground.
A pilots hands once useful
Now sat and still.

No purpose no pain.
No pleasure no gain
life is no longer living.

A girl wears a mask to cover her expressions
And fight an imaginary war.

Idle and stationary
We sit and we think.
What the **** happened
And pour another drink.

What do we do?
Where can we go?

Keep quiet and be patient
For this is not a battle but a war.
The enemy is living
and to attack is to be dead.

Our Great War
Is to lockdown.

Here I am sitting,
Wondering and wandering through my mind,
The life I want and could have had,
If only this pandemic did not arrived.

Im feeling sad deep inside,
Of not being satisfied of the life I have,
I am not here to get roasted,
Though I know I deserved it.

I know I am fortunate from most others,
I know I am acting so insensitive,
I have choose to be optimistic almost all the time,
But I choose to be honest just this time.

you're all locked up, and
you gave me permission to
enter, without giving me
the key

and i can't feel like myself,
i'm locked inside the world of,
somebody else.
where the walls feel like a box,
and this skin feels like a toxin
to me.

i wanna be free

We were in confided spaces before,
           in open air. Where we never mingled...
But at least we had company that we were
next to, now were in solitary confinement.

Now were 6 foot or 72 inches or 182.88cm
                from the nearest person, I don't know them,
they were here before me,
                                             celled up.
Slow walk, felt like a life time, so few steps..

But this is a funeral prosecution,
               is the one in front of me going to cough,
                                                                ­          sneeze..
Will they cover up or infect me, ME…
With there I don't know what's, could it be hay fever.

Could be me coughing in seven, to when I have a ventilator
shoved down my insides, I'm a breathing coffin..
        Just being buried slowly..
                                           they burn you now...
But I'm not there yet, I wash my hands.
                

"Happy birthday to me, happy birthday to me,
        I hope I wash my hands enough to see my  
                                                            ­     next birthday.
  But I'm wishing my hand happy birthday now,
            So soar but I'm happy birthdaying all week.

We in an open prison, free but unable to escape,
               I look out my window and breath..
      The air is a lot fresher that it used to be..

Another week passes, I write lines on the wall
         of my incarceration, I'm in a cell of luxury.
But I've never felt so alone.
     Were all roses, wilting due to lack of sunlight...