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| ⚠️☢️☣️''' WARNING: THIS POETRY IS VERY BAD. DO NOT USE FOR ANY FORM OF EXAMPLE OR INSPIRATION. EVAN IS NOT LIABLE IF THE BAD POETRY POLICE COME AND ARREST HIM. DO NOT READ OUT LOUD. DO NOT READ IN PUBLIC SETTINGS. DO NOT READ EXPECTING SOMETHING GOOD. DO NOT READ AT ANY TIME BETWEEN 12AM TO 10PM '''☣️☢️⚠️
| | You want it? Just ask |
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| Additionally this page is a work in progress. It is a long and difficult process to transfer all of these poems into a readable format. Poems are still being made actively. While these might not be the most figurative or graceful or good poems ever they are a raw expression of my emotion. I started writing these on the 14th of February 2025. To one looking in you may see nothing but words and bad wordplay, but to me I see my own story, as all of these relate relatively to moments throughout my life. Please enjoy the collected works of Evan
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| Solitude:<br>
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| Here I am<br>
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| Filling the empty space<br>
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| That only resides where I am<br>
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| Dreaming of others<br>
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| Hoping to find something to warm my solitude<br>
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| Sometimes I do<br>
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| And it is quickly filled with more cold and empty space than there was before<br>
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| Action, observance, and soul-searching<br>
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| Only make the walls colder<br>
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| And the empty space larger<br>
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| Yet it contracts<br>
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| Squeezes you of all desire<br>
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| Erodes one's want for love<br>
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| Wants turn into dreams<br>
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| And dreams turn into failures<br>
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| Until there is nothing<br>
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| But me and empty, cold, space<br>
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| Here I am<br>
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| Scaffolding:
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| So many people
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| Taking up space
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| Making the illusion that there is meaning
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| And yet the scaffolding connecting us
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| Is destroyed by my desperate grasp
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| Its so crowded
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| Friends, family, colleges
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| All occupy space
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| Some more than others
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| And yet you know that in that instant
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| That instant where you reach for more
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| That instant when you hope to find purpose
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| Only leads to more space to be filled
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| Which is filled with more scaffolding and people
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| Scaffolding which has been abandoned
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| Scaffolding which I know will never be built
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| And only traps me, making failure after failure
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| Never completing anything
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| Only preventing movement and desire
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| Its crowded
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| Yet the seclusion grows by the moment
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| Of people, things existing
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| Always aspiring for more
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| Seeing others heights
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| Seeing how and what is made
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| How great it is
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| And how hard it seems to become as great
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| It’s never enough for one is always higher
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| It seems many have had enough
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| Enough trying to be the best
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| Resigned to being mediocre
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| But not me
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| No I will push through
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| Only to find a mountain higher
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| Maybe the resigned ones are right
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| Maybe it’s not worth it
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| Maybe i should resign to mediocrity
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| Stop disappointing myself
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| Getting closer to dying inside everyday
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| Never satisfied
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| Always dying
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| '''Initiation'''
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| That thing that nobody ever does
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| That thing that I must always do
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| Forever praying for somebody to do it
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| Until those monumental weeks of waiting
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| Those weeks where you forget the world
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| Those weeks where you turn the inner eye inwards
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| Searching for something that doesn’t make me hate myself
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| Praying for one to start something of value
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| Yet no buzz shakes my life
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| No buzz comes until I buzz them
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| And the moment I do
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| They love me for those moments
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| Giving me gratification for something I never deserved
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| And then it ends, those strings of words
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| Only to leave a string of questions
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| Wrapping around my mind
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| Squeezing me of all desire to reach
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| Forcing the eye ever inwards
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| Until you are too far in to see
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| Others looking in disgust
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| '''Exhaustion'''
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| Am I great?
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| Or is it just in my eyes?
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| Are my eyes turned too far inward?
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| Should I turn them farther outwards?
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| Viewing others and not turn the inner eye
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| Or would that be obsession and lurking
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| But those who turn inwards are obsessed with the self
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| Those who reach the equilibrium
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| Somehow find that infinitesimally small space
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| Where the eyes are perfectly balanced
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| Never for me
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| Something out of my reach
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| Till my eyes cease to move
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| Cease to searching
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| Cease to being all that I am
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| '''Trappings of the infinite Void:'''
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| The vastness of that void whose walls are made of stone
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| The void that consumes all and is infinite
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| Expanding in all directions, yet turning blood to ice with its intimate touch
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| Everything one has to offer to the world and void in their vastness
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| Is simply eaten by that void that burns desire with its enclosing grasp that tightens by the moment
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| It takes many different forms
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| Other people and their hunger
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| The infinite reservoir of self disappointment
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| Or the empty physical world we find ourselves in
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| No matter if you put in uncountable things
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| Or a single mustard seed
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| All is consumed without remorse
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| Most not appreciated or valued
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| Even if noticed nothing cares and whatever it is will be rapidly forgotten
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| Nothing changes, as the world becomes stagnant with its waves of snowballing freezing
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| For the void coils around all of us
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| All it squeezes all fascination and interest of all it encircles around
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| Leaving a bleak infinite void that constricts all life
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| Until there is nothing
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| '''A man of evil'''
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| How I have been cast aside
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| How it seems that whenever I share a time with someone
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| They never look back, never mourning the spent time
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| Could it be my fault? Of course it is
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| For I am a man of dark temptations and evil thoughts
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| How could I convince myself of otherwise
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| How could I believe I am worthy of any love
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| Any form of support is an echo, fading before it touches me
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| For it is impossible to believe there is any good inside when I am a man eclipsed by his own darkness
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| Nobody is ever inquisitive back
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| I always ask first, wonder first, look first
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| Could it be that they know how much of me is evil?
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| Impossible, only I know that, my exquisite mask is too perfect
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| And nobody can see through it, nobody
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| Yet I must always worry because it seems like everyone knows
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| Dooming me to a meaningless existence of solitude
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| Is this the existence of a man living in his shadows?
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| '''The light of today and the night of tomorrow:'''
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| Oh how I must dwell on today
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| For if I picture tomorrow
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| All turns to ash
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| Today I have people talking, people to feel the warmth of
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| But tomorrow they all disappear
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| Whether time grows on them or I am ostracized
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| The unopened letters will only contain broken dreams
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| The only thing I get back from roses is thorns
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| And when I am so far lost in the void I may join it
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| '''The Mask'''
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| How a mask hides everything I am
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| How in a group of the pure it hides the evil inside
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| How it shows the side that they want to see
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| A mask only pours guilt into the soul
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| Condemned to bedrock
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| While they soar higher than the clouds
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| When underneath that mask your face is disfigured
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| And everyone seems to know it
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| While you pour out love and dedication
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| You see it in return, yet it echos away | |
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| For a man with a mask of perfect design
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| Falls further into his own shadows every day
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| How the grind never ends
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| Perseverance they say
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| Grit they say
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| Yet they make it impossible
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| The only method to pass is release
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| Whether its sounds, sensation, or death
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| Yet here I am marking papers with numbers and words
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| That hold no real purpose other than grinding you down
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| Chipping and rubbing away until you’re but a pebble in the sea
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| Rather than the great boulder you once were
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| Yet most want it, they say it’s good, it’ll get you far
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| Yet it only diminishes and blinds everyone
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| The impact of a pebble is meaningless
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| Yet nobody even realizes they are a pebble
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| How the lies stab
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| The lies of confirmation bias
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| How I ask if I should even try
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| And everyone says try
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| And yet everyone knows I’m hopeless
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| I’ll never have any chance with anyone
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| All I will ever get from roses is thorns
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| Because I am truly awful, yet grasping out for more
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| How could those I trust most lie to my face
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| How could those I trust most not say I’m simply hopeless
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| Never could a being find me to be
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| A light
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| A hope
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| A love
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| A reason
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| And neither will I
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| Many have asked me why I hate myself
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| It’s because I never say the right thing
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| I make people laugh, but it’s hollow, and it slips out of mind
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| It’s because I never act right
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| My body is never good enough
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| And I like it that way
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| I enjoy the suffering
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| And nobody knows why
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| Not even me
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| Because I’ll never be anything to anyone
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| And I might be so meaningless I will join the void
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| Yet here I am despising everything
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| Despising those liars that can’t tell the truth
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| Despising the world for what it’s done to me
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| Despising myself beyond everything else
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| Existing and wasting the world away around me with
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| My idiocracy
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| My clawing for the warm touch
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| My mediocrity
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| My awkwardness
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| My aura of uncomfort
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| And that, is why I will never be a reason
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| '''Flaws of todays world:'''
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| The lost inherit flaw in the world today
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| Is the false belief of potential
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| Everyone believes that everyone can do anything
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| Everyone believes that anyone can climb the tallest mountain
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| Yet what nobody realizes that if everyone can do that
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| Then nobody is special
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| Nobody achieves anything
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| Nobody sets themselves apart
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| I am in the smarter group
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| Yet nobody here is special
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| Because we all see through the same factory lense
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| All given the challenge to achieve our dreams
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| When everyone knows that if we do reach them
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| Nobody really grows because everyone grew
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| Why have I been put here?
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| In this place of shades of grey
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| Where all I am is popular
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| Funny, and cool on the surface
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| But below nobody ventures
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| Nobody wants to see the inside of this great sight
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| And nobody can tell me why
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| Nobody would ever want to have me be a reason
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| Nobody would ever want to have me be a purpose
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| And nobody will ever convince me that driving slow is reasonable
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| Because I’ll never have a reason to drive slow
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| There are a million reasons to speed
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| But only one reason to drive with caution
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| And that reason is something I can never have
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| Because my hands grip too tightly to those I love
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| My hands are covered in ice
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| Uncomfortable and awkward
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| Both in touch and spoken word
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| Why do I stand here?
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| Devoid and without purpose
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| Oh how we believe we are enlightened
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| How we believe we are intelligent
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| How we think our figures incredible
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| How we think the world well
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| How behind walls and stand blind
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| How are the walls are clear, yet cloud our eyes
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| With bread, and circus
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| Panem et circenses
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| How we think this concept is from a time lost
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| Yet our minds stand murky and dwelling on things of pleasure
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| We have been blinded
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| With this comforting tar we all stand in
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| Standing stagnant with false stories of progress
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| Yet we have bread, we have circus always
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| And they are everywhere, dominating our lives
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| Yet we see through it, seeing the horror of the world
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| Some saying to help, to assist
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| And we stand there in mud laughing like we stand above
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| Because why act when the belly is full
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| And the eyes and mind are filled with pleasurable things
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| How blind we really are
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| Why can’t I believe I have meaning?
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| Why do I just feel this way?
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| Because nobody wants me
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| Because nobody speaks first
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| Nobody wants more out of me
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| And to feel this way is an act of weakness
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| Because I must be better
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| Lest I become a pathetic man
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| Who can’t fix his own dilemmas
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| I shouldn’t be his way
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| I should be acting at peak performance always
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| That is how it is done
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| And to show weakness is weak
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| To need friends, to need her
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| Is weak
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| And weakness is not something that I can tolerate
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| Yet I cant stop feeling this way
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| So why live in this world when I am only subpar
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| And weak
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| Here I am
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| Standing on the wrong side of the glass
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| Pounding the glass
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| Slamming my fist against that pane
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| That smooth surface that’s so slippery
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| So slippery to prevent climbing
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| Praying it will break or fracture
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| Allowing me a breath of the fresh air
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| Allowing me to experience paradise
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| Where people experience each other
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| Feeling each others warmth
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| Yet this side is nothing but a desolate waste
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| Social distancing is kept for no perceptible reason
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| I am stuck here
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| Staring through the glass
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| Eyeing those on the right side
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| Pounding the glass
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| Yet it only seems to become stronger with ever hit
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| Always staying here for all time
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| Never leaving because the universe has determined it
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| For some eldritch reasoning
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| Toying with me using false doors and windows
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| And here I stand baffled with of my greatness
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| And yet broken with my failures
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| And yet the universe stands observing me and laughing
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| Why do I always do this?
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| I step into somebody's life
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| And instead of righting the wrongs
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| I wrong her world
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| Whether it's because I have become involved in her business
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| Or because I’ve complicated basic things
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| And yet I can’t help myself
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| Why must I always get involved?
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| I used to yell to the sky that
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| That drama would be saved for another day
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| And yet I always am in the middle
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| The person that all the fingers are pointed towards
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| As everyone laughs at my failures
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| Yet hiding their laughter behind fake comforts
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| They’re weak, they can hide anything
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| Because I have the most exquisite mask of everyone
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| And I can see through it all
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| Yet see through all lenses
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| And see that I am truly a failure
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| And keep all emotion blocked behind a machine of perfection
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| The numbness of the world
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| Always cold, yet never freezing
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| Staying in a gray area of numbness
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| Because emotion has no purpose
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| Emotion only slows down the computing of a human
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| Yet perfect computation leaves you cold as ice
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| Waiting for some heat to be bestowed upon you
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| Because you are too weak to make your own heat
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| Too cold and distant to find love or friends
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| And when you do they don’t care
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| They would pick anyone over you
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| Because you are a meaningless machine
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| Oh how I am extraneous
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| Why am I like this
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| Why have I been designed as decorative
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| With all the people laughing at the jokes I tell
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| When they only do it to comfort me in my pointless state
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| I could simply turn into nothing
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| Because that's how much I contribute to everything
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| Nothing
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| And that's all that I will ever be
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| Because I will never build anything
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| I will never even secure or see anything
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| Because that's all that I am
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| Extraneous
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| Useless
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| Empty
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| Why do I exist
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| There will never be a day where I see my love
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| And tell her she is beautiful
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| I will never see the day where a human
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| Makes time in my name
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| Many ask why do I sit here motionless
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| The only answer I can make is I have nothing else
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| I can lay on my couch forevermore
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| But it will also always stay empty
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| Leaving me to myself
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| For no matter how positive I am
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| Or excited to see others
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| They never give it back
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| People find me easy to talk to, yet difficult to connect to
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| Which means I am an interface
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| I am simply a thing you connect with and interact with
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| If I have no more meaning than a digitizer
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| Then I shouldn’t even exist
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| There’s a still moment when you realize, yet beautiful
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| You don’t matter
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| You don’t contribute
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| You don’t mean anything to anyone at all
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| Some turn to you after all other paths have been cut off
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| To others you are the loser who fails without fail
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| To others you are a decorative fixture in their day
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| But to the world you mean nothing
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| Because everybody is living in their own fake world
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| There will be a moment when you forget something
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| And nobody remembers for you
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| If they cared they would
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| If they ever did they would have shown it
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| But they let you forget
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| So I’m going to forget them
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| I’m going to forget the world
| |
| | |
| | |
| | |
| Am I real?
| |
| | |
| Many would say yes
| |
| | |
| But we all know the answer
| |
| | |
| For I am but a decoration in others lives
| |
| | |
| Or a tool to be used, and disposed
| |
| | |
| But I care not
| |
| | |
| I will continue on
| |
| | |
| Because if the world has turned its back on me then why care
| |
| | |
| Why not drift into obscurity
| |
| | |
| Why not drive until both tanks are empty
| |
| | |
| Because nobody sees me
| |
| | |
| Nobody sees under the lake
| |
| | |
| But the surface…
| |
| | |
| Calm, cool, contained
| |
| | |
| Sometimes too still
| |
| | |
| But nobody will ever find out if treasure or horror
| |
| | |
| Are under the surface
| |
| | |
| Why am I here
| |
| | |
| I’m not even real
| |
| | |
| | |
| | |
| Why has my passion drained away
| |
| | |
| Anything is simply a thing
| |
| | |
| A person is just a person
| |
| | |
| When I hear something I loved
| |
| | |
| I realize I love it no more
| |
| | |
| For the plum of passion has been dried
| |
| | |
| The unending flow of aether of l is still
| |
| | |
| Its fair fullness has vanished
| |
| | |
| It is simply a shriveled husk on the ground
| |
| | |
| Yet hiding its true face of remorse
| |
| | |
| Just like me
| |
| | |
| | |
| | |
| Gone
| |
| | |
| They all disappeared
| |
| | |
| It feels too soon
| |
| | |
| Yet it's already been years
| |
| | |
| I should be sad
| |
| | |
| I should be mourning their departure
| |
| | |
| But instead I only reflect on my imperfections
| |
| | |
| I write and write to them
| |
| | |
| But never send my words
| |
| | |
| I still trace their fingerprints
| |
| | |
| Hoping to follow their legacy in any way
| |
| | |
| Because now it's just me
| |
| | |
| Trying to fill in their footstep
| |
| | |
| With echoes of my mistakes lingering around me
| |
| | |
| With me to fill their infinite hole
| |
| | |
| That no version of me will ever fill
| |
| | |
| There is no version of me
| |
| | |
| That could ever match them
| |
| | |
| That could ever simply be as interesting
| |
| | |
| Gone
| |
| | |
| | |
| | |
| Why am I still here?
| |
| | |
| Everyone moves
| |
| | |
| Yet I sit
| |
| | |
| Waiting to leave
| |
| | |
| Ready to leave
| |
| | |
| But you’re not done.
| |
| | |
| You still have time to waste
| |
| | |
| And love to find
| |
| | |
| Yet you cannot find the life within you to do it
| |
| | |
| Desperately holding the dread off
| |
| | |
| Thinking about those that passed before you
| |
| | |
| And their incredible legacy
| |
| | |
| That I couldn't hope to trace
| |
| | |
| Yet I am here
| |
| | |
| Waiting to leave
| |
| | |
| You’re so busy in the moment
| |
| | |
| Your mind so clouded by the thought of their empty space
| |
| | |
| That you forgot if they will trace your fingerprints
| |
| | |
| You forget if they will see the imprint and mourn
| |
| | |
| And when you realize your body becomes a void
| |
| | |
| Stuck thinking about how you don’t contribute
| |
| | |
| You’re not special
| |
| | |
| You haven’t mattered to them since day 1
| |
| | |
| You are simply a flavor in their mouth
| |
| | |
| Leaving nothing behind
| |
| | |
| You reminisce of how you’ve failed them
| |
| | |
| When they never even knew
| |
| | |
| They never even knew you
| |
| | |
| And that claws out your heart
| |
| | |
| And nothing can ever fill it again
| |
| | |
| Because they’ll never see what you become
| |
| | |
| They’re gone
| |
| | |
| The only reason I might still be here
| |
| | |
| Is gone
| |
| | |
| After what seems like too little time
| |
| | |
| When it’s been years
| |
| | |
| How could I pray to carry on a legacy
| |
| | |
| That is nigh limitless
| |
| | |
| How could I carry another generation
| |
| | |
| Like they carried me
| |
| | |
| How could I possibly fill the hole left behind?
| |
| | |
| I don’t have to
| |
| | |
| Because the next generation
| |
| | |
| Has no fathom of the hole left by them
| |
| | |
| But they will know the hole left by me
| |
| | |
| | |
| | |
| At some moments my mask slips
| |
| | |
| It doesn't happen often
| |
| | |
| I love the imagery of rot underneath
| |
| | |
| I find comfort in the grotesque
| |
| | |
| But later I realize
| |
| | |
| It isn't what I thought it was
| |
| | |
| It isn't a thing of beauty, nor of decay
| |
| | |
| I am still a man underneath
| |
| | |
| Many don't accept what it is
| |
| | |
| But some might be allured
| |
| | |
| Some might find a jewel under that cover
| |
| | |
| And when they see me for who I am
| |
| | |
| I will finally realize that I don't need the mask
| |
| | |
| I will finally realize that I was a fool living in voluntary misery
| |
| | |
| But I will finally be free
| |
| | |
| | |
| | |
| There are those moments
| |
| | |
| When your heart is warmed
| |
| | |
| But it is hollow
| |
| | |
| It has no real meaning
| |
| | |
| The moment is manufactured
| |
| | |
| You’re not unique
| |
| | |
| You’re not special
| |
| | |
| I’ll play nice always
| |
| | |
| But I’m not always wanting more
| |
| | |
| The good of the many
| |
| | |
| Outweigh the good of the few
| |
| | |
| But
| |
| | |
| Only when it has meaning
| |
| | |
| Only when its unique
| |
| | |
| And only when people will mix their routine
| |
| | |
| Step away from the standard
| |
| | |
| And find something new
| |
| | |
| | |
| | |
| The true mirror:
| |
| | |
| That motion
| |
| | |
| Visions of horrific moments flash
| |
| | |
| Hopes and dreams die
| |
| | |
| As you studiously review interaction
| |
| | |
| Redoing it after the fact
| |
| | |
| That motion that goes in circles
| |
| | |
| The way I perfect words spoken in the past
| |
| | |
| The way I correct untouchable things
| |
| | |
| That motion of decay
| |
| | |
| As I walk in circles I only carve a circle in my mind
| |
| | |
| I cave a hole in my skin
| |
| | |
| As the ultimate form of punishment is harm
| |
| | |
| Thinking about yesterday, now, and tomorrow
| |
| | |
| All at once
| |
| | |
| Correcting possible things
| |
| | |
| Correcting past things
| |
| | |
| Correcting myself
| |
| | |
| Yet it all goes to nothing
| |
| | |
| Because it only digs the trench deeper
| |
| | |
| But you’re only fighting a mirror
| |
| | |
| | |
| | |
| Look at how huge this world is
| |
| | |
| We are so blissfully ignorant
| |
| | |
| Ignoring billions to have our 50
| |
| | |
| Watching cars go by wondering
| |
| | |
| How their lives are hard
| |
| | |
| Wondering what’s happening in their lives
| |
| | |
| Have they gotten a promotion
| |
| | |
| Did they just get fired
| |
| | |
| Did they just get married
| |
| | |
| Or did they just get divorced
| |
| | |
| Are they having the time of their lives
| |
| | |
| Or suffering in complete agony
| |
| | |
| This we will never know because we are all ignorant
| |
| | |
| Yet it’s so blissful
| |
| | |
| | |
| | |
| Here I am
| |
| | |
| Imagining I am so high
| |
| | |
| When I’m touching the floor
| |
| | |
| How could I be foolish and imagine
| |
| | |
| And dream
| |
| | |
| Of my own greatness
| |
| | |
| When I haven’t even jumped
| |
| | |
| Trying to hit something other than the ground
| |
| | |
| Yet everyone says I have potential
| |
| | |
| And everyone says I am high
| |
| | |
| Yet it’s all lies
| |
| | |
| How could the world lie to me like this
| |
| | |
| But why should I be angry
| |
| | |
| When I am only the fool
| |
| | |
| Why say anything
| |
| | |
| When all my mouth contains is poison
| |
| | |
| Creating a cloud of toxic around me
| |
| | |
| Infecting everything around me
| |
| | |
| My voice isn’t of vibration and air
| |
| | |
| It’s of disease
| |
| | |
| When I try to laugh
| |
| | |
| Or inflict that on others
| |
| | |
| It isn’t what it should be
| |
| | |
| It only makes the air stiff
| |
| | |
| Leaving me there
| |
| | |
| Alone
| |
| | |
| It kills me on the inside
| |
| | |
| To not be valued
| |
| | |
| Not for my voice
| |
| | |
| Not for my looks
| |
| | |
| Not for who I am
| |
| | |
| The poison stains me
| |
| | |
| And that is why I am silent
| |
| | |
| | |
| | |
| | |
| Why can’t it happen
| |
| | |
| Many call it a fling
| |
| | |
| Many call is something worse
| |
| | |
| Something better
| |
| | |
| But I call it a chance
| |
| | |
| That I know im not deserving of
| |
| | |
| Despite my desperation
| |
| | |
| Despite my need for it
| |
| | |
| No.
| |
| | |
| I will be stronger
| |
| | |
| I don’t need compassion
| |
| | |
| I don’t need any woman
| |
| | |
| They do not complete me
| |
| | |
| Because they don’t complete themselves
| |
| | |
| I can keep clawing in desperation
| |
| | |
| I can yearn all I want
| |
| | |
| But I am mistaken as always
| |
| | |
| I’ll be better in solitude
| |
| | |
| | |
| | |
| Here I stand
| |
| | |
| Standing at this precipice
| |
| | |
| Wanting to look forward
| |
| | |
| Yet all you see is fog
| |
| | |
| But even if the future was clear
| |
| | |
| I would only be able to look back
| |
| | |
| Backwards at my past
| |
| | |
| The good I want to forget
| |
| | |
| The bad I need to learn from
| |
| | |
| The mistakes I kill myself over
| |
| | |
| The passion I reach for now
| |
| | |
| And then in the contemporary I look in the mirror
| |
| | |
| And realize it’s led to nothing of worth
| |
| | |
| If it did I wouldn’t be drained
| |
| | |
| I would have purpose
| |
| | |
| I would have all I wanted
| |
| | |
| Yet all I wanted is as hollow as life itself
| |
| | |
| Hollow like society
| |
| | |
| Hollow like desire
| |
| | |
| Hollow like lust
| |
| | |
| Hollow like all humans are
| |
| | |
| Because all in all we fade away in each others minds
| |
| | |
| Centered on the past and not others nor the future
| |
| | |
| Living in the contemporary like it’s all fine
| |
| | |
| Yet we lie and lie and lie that we have purpose
| |
| | |
| Inventing pleading attempts at meaning
| |
| | |
| | |
| | |
| | |
| Here I move
| |
| | |
| Here I run
| |
| | |
| Run away from my problems
| |
| | |
| For I am weaker than I thought
| |
| | |
| But I run with direction
| |
| | |
| I flee with purpose
| |
| | |
| Towards something else
| |
| | |
| Something pointless in the long run
| |
| | |
| Because I am pointless
| |
| | |
| But I believe
| |
| | |
| Through freedom and power
| |
| | |
| I will reach new heights
| |
| | |
| While I might not have meaning
| |
| | |
| I can make it myself
| |
| | |
| I need not the touch of a woman
| |
| | |
| Nor the compassion I cannot give myself
| |
| | |
| Because I will make it myself
| |
| | |
| I don’t need to find it
| |
| | |
| Finding a vineyard is impossible
| |
| | |
| And finding one is pointless
| |
| | |
| Because I’ll build it
| |
| | |
| I’ll grow it from bare dirt
| |
| | |
| It’s already been watered
| |
| | |
| I just have to care for once
| |
| | |
| And then I will sit and watch
| |
| | |
| And hate myself
| |
| | |
| But something with change
| |
| | |
| Something will grow
| |
| | |
| Even if I have no purpose
| |
| | |
| | |
| | |
| How can I find the light
| |
| | |
| When I pollute darkness
| |
| | |
| With my mouth
| |
| | |
| My touch
| |
| | |
| My very presence
| |
| | |
| It ruins and withers everything
| |
| | |
| How can my head be looking down so many roads
| |
| | |
| So much information
| |
| | |
| Yet I still have no clue
| |
| | |
| Because I’m doomed
| |
| | |
| Not because someone ruined it for me
| |
| | |
| But because ive burned it
| |
| | |
| I’ve burned it all down around me
| |
| | |
| So many care
| |
| | |
| Yet I make it untrue
| |
| | |
| Burning that care
| |
| | |
| Because there’s no point
| |
| | |
| Where is the light?
| |
| | |
| Someday I will discover
| |
| | |
| Nothing
| |
| | |
| Because there is no light
| |
| | |
| | |
| | |
| | |
| Empty
| |
| | |
| As like a hollow space
| |
| | |
| Of perhaps a heart
| |
| | |
| Or a soul
| |
| | |
| Is all that fills my mind and my heart
| |
| | |
| And I can’t let it escape
| |
| | |
| I won’t
| |
| | |
| For a reason that escapes my mind
| |
| | |
| At least the rotted part
| |
| | |
| But I know that nothing can fill it
| |
| | |
| Except me
| |
| | |
| But that’s impossible
| |
| | |
| Impossible like a warmed heart
| |
| | |
| A heart wamed by the warm thought of her
| |
| | |
| Yet her face remains concealed from me
| |
| | |
| Yet all I can fill it with is contentness in my own image
| |
| | |
| But my eyes have been veiled
| |
| | |
| My eyes fail to see
| |
| | |
| My eyes fail to see the world for what it is
| |
| | |
| Because I lack conviction
| |
| | |
| Yet it’s always me
| |
| | |
| This empty space is so cold
| |
| | |
| So constricting
| |
| | |
| I cannot act for the people around me don’t allow it
| |
| | |
| Yet I must act or I’ll collapse
| |
| | |
| From the last spark of light
| |
| | |
| To the depths of the abyss
| |
| | |
| Where everyone sees a projection
| |
| | |
| And not me
| |
| | |
| | |
| | |
| My feeling is as a wick
| |
| | |
| Burning
| |
| | |
| Disappearing
| |
| | |
| Every interaction is more flame
| |
| | |
| Burning me down
| |
| | |
| Killing me slowly
| |
| | |
| Yet I burn myself faster
| |
| | |
| Wanting it to end
| |
| | |
| Seeking a death to the path
| |
| | |
| For I could never find another wick to share the flame
| |
| | |
| I could never make myself stronger to burn longer
| |
| | |
| Yet my burning still gives light
| |
| | |
| Perhaps that light wil be used by something
| |
| | |
| Or it could be found to be beautiful
| |
| | |
| Yet that day is not here
| |
| | |
| So I must live
| |
| | |
| And burn
| |
| | |
| While the world watches
| |
| | |
| | |
| | |
| I didn’t even contribute
| |
| | |
| Yet I was the loudest
| |
| | |
| I did the most
| |
| | |
| Yet I want to die now
| |
| | |
| Nothing I said was good
| |
| | |
| Nothing I did was good
| |
| | |
| There I stood with 3 opportunities
| |
| | |
| 3 chances
| |
| | |
| 3 windows
| |
| | |
| 3 lights
| |
| | |
| Some already closed
| |
| | |
| And I closed it
| |
| | |
| I just cannot help myself
| |
| | |
| My disappointment flickers
| |
| | |
| To die
| |
| | |
| Because I wouldn’t even be worth it
| |
| | |
| And nobody will tell me
| |
| | |
| Yet everyone knows
| |
| | |
| My face
| |
| | |
| Isn’t nice without the mask
| |
| | |
| I was a fool to attempt a removal
| |
| | |
| And that is all I ever will be
| |
| | |
| A fool
| |
| | |
| And a mistake
| |
| | |
| | |
| | |
| | |
| | |
| Imagine
| |
| | |
| Imagine a moment
| |
| | |
| Where you are one of my heart
| |
| | |
| I no longer have to turn the inner eye
| |
| | |
| To see why I am left void in others
| |
| | |
| Because you fill the vision of my eyes
| |
| | |
| Simply imagine that
| |
| | |
| Despite… wait
| |
| | |
| Now imagine a moment
| |
| | |
| Where you are seen
| |
| | |
| Under the mask of perfection
| |
| | |
| The mask of humor and appearance
| |
| | |
| And seen for what you really are
| |
| | |
| You
| |
| | |
| Your flawed fatality
| |
| | |
| There is no flawed beauty
| |
| | |
| Now open your real eyes
| |
| | |
| And realize that’s all that exists
| |
| | |
| Now stop imagining
| |
| | |
| For it will do you no good
| |
| | |
| Just like this life
| |
| | |
| | |
| | |
| How could the face be gone
| |
| | |
| What is a mask without something to conceal
| |
| | |
| Why must I join the multitude of the mindless
| |
| | |
| Where the face must be influenced to have shape
| |
| | |
| Turning you into a shapeless faceless thing
| |
| | |
| Why can’t the inner eye see anymore
| |
| | |
| And rely upon those others within the mass
| |
| | |
| To simply know peace
| |
| | |
| Yet peace doesn’t come
| |
| | |
| It never can
| |
| | |
| Ones worth is a face reflecting ambition
| |
| | |
| Yet the mindless have no ambition
| |
| | |
| No mind to think
| |
| | |
| No will to break
| |
