and dream about

the world ending.

i’m always scared

i’m always running

i wake up only

to fall back asleep.

i will always remember that point where i broke open like a pill capsule, powder self dissipating into the wind. that experience felt like my soul ripped apart and from within it a stranger emerged. i was changing. i have changed. this is what happens to every introvert that realises they need to come out of their shell.

my shell was suicide and escapism. growing pains meant knowing where my passport, money and ID is at any point of time. i later learned to get out before i got kicked out.

i know the story of my parents: who schemed what, who fucked up, and where they are now. it is what it is. and i am not defined by any of it. our stories don’t matter, whether in parts or in whole. there was no big event that brought about my change. people are just crazy and fate will take someone dear to you but won’t let you die.

to reach the earth.

We sleep, we wake,

nightmares, reality,

music, emotion

melding, returning

in orchestral brilliance.

How do people bear

their experience?

How do people bare

exists side by side in my heart.

the clouds above have dropped all illusions

and they no longer pretend to be static.

I know

that if I crush

myself into a paper ball,

eraser marks on blank slate and all,

she would not bat an eye

much less shed a tear.

I know

that if I should set fire

to this paper ball,

combust a short life

to the heavens above,

she would bat one eye

only to close it. Only fear

of a tear on her printed paperwork

should remain in the material world–

I know

that I can fight fire with fire

with a fist clenched over an iron’s handle

I can even out the wrinkles of the past, again and again

nevermind eraser marks; scars that become skin with time

their death’s flames will only grow to be a smokescreen

more neurons than stars in the sky

light in our heads and our hands,

they light the earth

                                           in the dark light

pollution shrouds more stars in the sky

than sand on earth and our hands,

beneath the sky, my body is secondary to my will

beneath the clouds, we breathe and choke on canned novelty

beneath the stars, i burn brightly for a frame