Pieces of glass
Tears against my skin
Red running down
With my head throbbing
I’m lost
And nothing can help
I drink away my sorrows
For a hope of a better tomorrow
I smoke ***
For a hope to forget the past
I need to find my way
In this life
So I can finally
Live without strife
Kicked out for being me
Beaten for being a freak
What am I to do now?

I lifted your spirits and kept you going
I thought i knew my way, my path
But i was struck on a hill and had to stop
You fell, my dear flower ***.

We had good moments, we had good talks
But when you hurt me bad I hesitated
Then you took off on your own.
I thought you’d come back.
I waited and waited
Like a moon to abide
The waiting of warmth
So that i may ride
Once again.

My dear flower ***, my half of soul
When you left I couldn’t find you again
For you fell too deep I couldn’t recognize.
I tried to forget, i rode alone
Took off on my bike not knowing i was prone
To getting lost- so lost.

Now there was no one to help
No one to lead
I started walking by myself.
What was the point of riding a journey
With no company as lovely as you were
My long gone flower ***

You say you’re the author of your thoughts
But you don’t know what the next one will be
So if I were to erase your recollections
And insert all my life into you
Wouldn’t you be me?


Even the simplest daily choices would change
If your beginning wouldn’t have been the same
You wouldn’t be here today

I have an apple and a chocolate bar and I offer it to you
“If you really believe you have a choice, pick one of the two.”
You pick the apple and say it was simply your decision
A decision is a result of tradition, religion, and false intuition

“But I can still choose!”
Isn’t that how ideas are new?

I want you to stop
And make a color
Make a color that is new
And hasn’t been discovered
Make a color without mixing pre-existing colors
Now tell me your idea is original
Tell me your desires come from you
You are what you decided to become
You can do what you choose
But where did YOUR desires come from?


You are not living in these moments
You are not controlling these moments
You are the moment
You are not existing
You are not controlling you’re existence
You are the existence

Perspectives
are not the same anymore
Judgements
Who really belongs in a cell
Jesus, religion, heaven
Who deserves to go to hell?
How can we judge
How can we be blamed
When our events created us into who we are today

It is self evident to everyone of us that you can not be
what you perceive
I am not that wall
I am not that chair

You hear you thoughts
You see YOUR body
I am not me
You are not you
Even this is not something you believe
Because even that is perceived

Surprisingly, I don’t feel pessimistic
I feel like the world around me is more realistic
To the truth
And I am not where I belong
I am not even sure what this is supposed to mean
This was something unusual to me
But I feel a certain clarity
Awareness of my lack of freedom
makes me feel free
This causal state of our mentality
This
Is
An
Art

Who are you?
Nothing.
What is true?
A clay *** isn’t useful for the clay it is made of
Or the color
Or the texture
Or the size
A clay *** is useful for the emptiness it holds inside.

You ride
Inside my hair
You are eveywhere
Green beauty

With buds a color
Too perfect to burn
Green beauty
I make you my home

Once I received
a plant
in a brown ***.

I put it outside
-the verandah exactly.

Every day I saw it.
Well, I thought it
needed its hydration and vitamin D.
So I
watered it a little
and sunned it a little.

One day,
I saw them-the FLOWERBUDS!
I felt something
tinkling? sparkling?
there
resting on its very seat.

A few days after,
they bloomed.
It rejoiced I could tell.
Photos were taken
don't you worry.

At 5pm I rushed home
just to be greeted
by their sincere, smiling petals.
Touched,
I, too,
smiled.

One night
before October began,
I was awoken
by the wailing
of such a strong, wild wind.
It wasn't anything ordinary.

Then I remembered
my loyal welcomer.
"Oh"
I braved myself to
open the door.
I turned the ****
and leaned against the door,
withholding the whirls.
"Oh,"
One dot, two dots, three dots,
countless dots
rained the soiled and deformed.

I felt it
being ripped
to pieces.

i can see the ocean in your eyes
and taste the galaxy on your tongue
but that's only if i ignore
the bloodshot glaze
and bitter taste of smoke

s.s