A thousand people in a street,
A thousand eyes that’ll meet—
A million personalities in a street,

Some to work,
Some to school,
Some to steal,
Some to fool,

Few are drunk,
Few are poor,
Few to lie,
Few to fly.

A thousand sighs in a street,
A thousand sorrows to tolerate,
A million stories incomplete—

Few slept deep
Few wept in a sheet.

Few to study,
Few to work.

A thousand people in a street.
A thousand griefs that repeat,
A million hearts that skip a beat—

I write on paper,
A lot more,
Since the last six months,
It feels better,
Than staring down a screen,
Where I tie my artistry,
To the last echoing words,

I wish I let them pull me out,
Of all this,
Much sooner.

It's hard to trust someone who always lied.
It's hard to love someone who made you cry.
It's hard to care when you want to die.
It's hard to believe when you have no pride.
It's hard to forgive when you already tried.
It's hard to be happy when there are tears in my eyes

There was once a time
when men were championed for being sent off to war
celebrated
for having gone to battle

Should they have survived,
they would come home to their people,
drinking wine and parading about their accomplishments
while everyone gathered to listen to their tales

Yet, today, men are actively discouraged from sharing their battles

and I know,
a breakup,
or a depressive episode,
or even just a bad day
are not on the level of grandeur as a bloodied fight to the death

but even the small victories were once reason for banners to be hung
and the small losses; a reason for mourning

so, please, share your battles, whether they were a win or a loss,
because you never know
which fight will be the one to consume you

i have these voices in my head

with me when i’m awake or in bed
when i’m smiling and happy
they come and break my peace
telling me weird things
that make me lose my ease

they tell me i won’t get better
they tell me i don’t matter
they tell me one day ill be dead
so why not get it over with instead

the voices are evil and cold
but they comfort me when i’m all alone
they tell me to do things to myself
and be sure that no one knows

oh the voices in my head
they walk me to my death

It seems you lie to yourself,
Building up a fake world to fall back on.
Though, even if you do,
You at least have some level of dignity.
For if you brought these people here,
Only to rile things up,
You're disgusting.

Sometimes, you disgust me.

If anything,
I am as much as a hunter of evil as you.
Although I am no kingmaker,
No kingdom taker.
Ask yourself,
Did you fix a problem?
Or replace it.

Because in the face of paradise,
You disgrace it.

i just wish
that you
would seek
the same comfort
that i seek in you