the things that made sense no longer do. either by chance or by a flawded design, I was born. there are things in life i cannot make sense of. i am one of them.

if i once was, i no longer am. if i ever was to be, i will never become. broken things, like myself, seem to attract other damaged goods. 

getting close to someone is painful. not because it is hard or because it is something that goes against my nature but because every person i somehow manage to touch, slips away from my closed hands. 

trying to hold on to you is the same as trying to hold on to life. no matter how hard i try to cling, I can't. the blood starts escaping my circuit, i become cold, dry and pale.

if i was to be someone i would've most likely have been someone already. since i am nothing of value, what draws people in? i got nothing going on in my life but the people that get going as fast and they came.

one day the noise will stop and the light will disappear so that i can finally find confort in the darkness, as intended. rain falls on my head, thunder cracks on the grass i step on. i am burning as hot as the sun, and as intense as a vulcano that recently erupted.

people often dissapoint. people often make me question if i ever was meant to live. i don't belong in anyone's arms, i don't belong on another person's bed. i don't belong

if being myself makes me someone, i would rather not be myself.

being someone who isn't, or someone who once was, is something i feel bitter about.

it would be wise to forget, to find confort in the arms of a stranger. if i dared to love ever again, i would love myself.

there's something wrong in the way reality is designed, what is real sometimes isn't. being flawed by nature, I blame my creators.

what am I? a monster under your bed? a feather on your shoulder?

to me you are my reasons, my last and only hope. You arethe only one who has ever truly seen me.

on a crowded room full of nothingness, we always manadged to find each other. either blindfolded or deaf, our souls would always unite

rest on my chest as if i was a pillow. breathe me in as if i am food to your lungs.

there are times where i think about what could have been. there are even times where I meet you on my dreams.

maybe one day i'll find the answers to the equasion of life. perhaps i'll even find the answers to my origins.

all i know is that i miss your smell on my clothes. i miss the way you looked at me as if you could see what was under my dirty and thicc skin. 

you were once the roots of my structural self. the impact you had and have over someone as empty as myself is something i find to be impressive.

in my mind i saw you as my soulmate. i even dared to think we'd eventually die of age while holding each other ever so thighly. 

i never want to love someone again. feeling heartbroke, abandoned and forgotten by you as made me think just how much i hurt you. if i could go back i would hold you instead of pushing you away. i should've taken care of you as good as you took care of me. 

we won't ever meet again. i will never get to hear your voice. you won't even read my poems or the book i wrote in homenage to you and your love.

i become so sad at times thinking about you and what once was that i can't stop crying. several years have passed, yet i still love you. i wish you'd still love me.

    To me, life is a road I keep walking on. Even though i yearn for my legs to stop walking, they don't stop.

     Sometimes I look in to the sky. I appreciate the beauty of the stars and the moon often pondering if maybe, one day, I'll join them. 

    Becoming a single drop of water on a vast sea or being so little I am no longer noticed is something I find confort in thinking about. 

    If I ever were to walk on burning hot charcoal pavement I would do it so willingly. 

    Maybe I wasn't meant to be. Maybe I am one of many life's mistakes. 

    Being a mistake or being mistaken as someone. I wonder if I am one of these two options or I am endeed nothing at all. 

    I never was an option. If so, I would the last option. Not because I am unworthy, but because I am unlovable. People might think they know they love me, or maybe they even feel a certain amount of love towards me. Their love is but a misguided arrow, pointed towards a target that was never there to being with.

    I often dream about dying. I sometimes die thinking about dreaming that scenario. If by any chance I were to die tomorow, I would die regreting only dying a day late. 

    Not knowing when my time will be is has miserable as my thoughts, ideas, and sense of self. 

    Life is but a glutonous monster who constantly tries to swallow my soul whole as if I was ever meant to be consumed by it. 

    Dying of age would be one of many god's punishments. If I was ever loved, I no longer am. If I was every forgiven, that forgiveness is already burried underneath the tainted and poluted soil I so uneagerly sleep on.

    Oh, If I ever was brave enough to follow my gut... 

    I will feel loved only when my desire of sleeping for eterny is fulfilled. 

    My screams aren't heard by anyone and my words leave nothing but a shallow taste of dirt on people's mouths.