Compromised Focus

Screaming in basements to avoid being heard,

Typing out thoughts so patience doesn’t have to be tested,

It’s all become so routine;

Figuring out how to make the loudest noise yet remain concealed

In an absent-minded and loud world.

Exhausted at the resonance of criticism,

Flattened by the glare of chosen ignorance,

My disdain for sleep is tested by my stronger desire to avoid people.

While my body will be in far worse pain if I lay down uselessly,

It’s better than the pain of being surrounded by people

whose interactions feel like they’re done out of duty rather than hospitality.

Why believe you’re in a group when the people make you feel lonely?

Why sit next to someone who seems as though they’re deaf to your voice only?

I’m confused as to what relationships are actually supposed to do,

Especially since people seem to favor conversations on screens involving icons and abbreviations,

Rather than human engagement and sound.

Why should I see you in person when I can see you just fine on my phone screen?

Don’t waste your touch You won’t feel anything



From an Involuntary Beginning to an Inevitable Ending

Without even trying,

I’m most aware of myself

once another human being has entered the room I’m in.

Call this perpetual anxiety,

Or perpetual lack of privacy;

They don’t even have to notice I exist,

Let alone my presence,

But I’m often unexplainably compelled to leave.

Do we fear death because we don’t understand,

Or is it that we fear life because all we can understand is death?

For it seems fair & honest to say that no human being,

No one alive,

Before birth ever asked about or agreed to being born.

However, many people often ask to die

and some choose to take primary responsibility for it happening.

It’s as if we wish we had a button that could switch our lives on or off,

Much like the machines we revolved our lives around & often live through more actively than our mortal shell.

At least in this current generation,

It’s as if our phones are more alive than a fair amount of our youth;

The people are who supposed to “create our tomorrow”,

When they aren’t even alive today.


Vicious Awareness

In the midst of the storm,

I see the fog very clearly;

But the fog is all I see,

And my sight may as well be as clouded as the world before me.

Evidently my understanding is lacking,

At least personally if not fully;

But I must digress.

I appreciate that the weather can be inconsistent,

It’s one of the few inconsistencies in life that I’ve learned to enjoy.

Assistance unwanted is typically the first offered,

Or that’s what I’ve discovered occurs most often.

I’d rather not display more jadedness,

In the midst of our society that seems to at time thrive on it;

But the charade of being mute has lost its thrill.


Exit Sign or Starting Line

Time to pack it in,

Get on up and out of here.

Leaving with less than I arrived with,

But also more than I could have expected.

I’ve learned a whole bunch of nothing,

And pieces of a few things.

I don’t know where to go,

Or what to say;

I just know I’m leaving,

And my eyes are to remain straight ahead

not looking back for even a second.

My brain is faint,

Eyes are drooping & dropping;

Either I’m tired or too tired of being tired.

And so, is an exit sign  or a starting line?

I guess it’s a matter of perspective.

Either way, this is one line

I’m definitely looking to cross.



Awakened by Apathy, Surprised by Salvation

I step onto dung encrusted pavement,

All my senses aside from taste are assaulted simultaneously.

I begin my usual, almost redundant, & predictable walk;

A walk of streets that for some inspire fear & anxiety

others are inspired to hunger for power & respect.

My main hunger as I walk these streets is typically either for food or to not be noticed.

On days where I’m noticed,

I have various choices.

I honestly speak & interact with whomever I encounter

resulting in mixed reactions ranging from pleasant to angry;

Or I can act ignorant & blind,

Either choosing to act as though I’m afraid of the tough talkers

or acting as though I don’t see the atrocities that keep these streets busy.

Sometimes I think so much that I wait for my brain to explode,

But the bomb never goes off;

And neither does my mind.

It just keeps running these marathons of contemplation;

Like a cocktail of aggravation & meditation.

It’s truly ironic & strange how we often embody what we hate,

Better to see the irony though before it’s too late;

It’s about taking time not some stupid concept of fate.

This is a call to people who actually think;

Next time you complain about a character trait or habit you don’t like,

Step back & take a look at yourself.


When looking to make changes(really of any kind), please as tempting as it is; don’t begin to think you can do it completely alone.

Grievances & Troubles

I’m angry that I may have to leave the place I occasionally hate,

Only to return to places I’ve tried to forget or at least have tried to not romanticize mentally;

It’s always easy to romanticize that which you once didn’t enjoy,

When something that once was a source of joy & sweetness turns bitter.

I don’t mind being a ghost,

I can even accept being forgotten occasionally;

But I don’t want to be haunted by my past,

And I’m sick of it accomplishing that by trying to convince me that my past will define my future.

I know it will have an effect, but it’s not set in stone.

The future is only a step away

while the past is more of a stones throw;

Like a shattering mirror,

Compared to an unlocked door

not yet to be opened.

Chest pains & dried blood.

Ink stains & torn pages.

While saying goodbye may be difficult,

Considering the bitterness a “hello” can contain;

Goodbye’s are like being asked to carry in groceries,

Rather than carrying a full chest freezer by yourself.

I’m not saying that being with people is bad,

But I’ll never say it’s always good.


The Walking Sick

Screaming in the ear of a heavy sleeper,

Hoping to awaken their senses which seem to slumber much deeper.

Moved & confused,

Admitting a lack of understanding

and yet being offered nothing more but confidence in my lack.

How am I to learn, without a teacher?

Shaking as I wander the hall,

In a fog of blindness;

Or at least my vision was not that of reality.

Seeing fantastically horrific things,

Both remembered & imagined;

I wonder & question,

Just how I’ve arrived here and why it’s taken me this long to ask?

Should I, as I’ve done so often, just flee;

leaving everything in the dust behind me?

For this I feel is not the answer,

But there doesn’t seem to be any other solution offered in its place.