Way to Perfection

Why can't you be more like that?
Why must you think this way?
Why can't you just be more tolerant?
Why can't you just change your way of thinking?

It is not me that you want
It is not me that you need

Because I can't be more different than that
I can't think this way
I can't be more tolerant than I am now
I can't change my way of thinking

questionmarks

why do I feel so bad
why do I feel so bad
why do I feel so bad
what is going on
what is wrong
who is wrong

Is this what I want
Is this what I think I want
Is this it

what is going on
what is wrong
who is wrong
why do I feel so bad
why do I feel so bad
why do I feel so bad

this afternoon

egoism egoist egocentric egotistic

I undergo hours of journeys just to be with you
I work overtime to afford more than just a weekend at your side
I am willing to spend the night at work just so I can stay a little bit longer in your arms
I told my friends that I want to concentrate myself to you
I; I; ME; ME; ME!
echo throughout the land

egoism egoist egocentric egotistic I AM

Swallowed Rage

Oh how I wish to wash away all of those conjuring thoughts full of thorns. Sometimes I believe that I am capable of crushing everything bit by bit into the smalest mollecule....

I do not know if I am really able to be that cruel. The thought is there, though.

Walk on by

Days are streams of consciousness, which mutilated into shreds and particles of juggled dreams. Months constitute of racings of blurred days; the fastness awes, the vastness crushes.

I am shoved through many mazes of woods, rivers, and streets. The flying smoke of the fox in the woods lulled me in my wooden cradle; blanketted my shivering core with its redwhite silken fur. I lingered into the river and was pushed by the slithering two headed serpent through the blazing water. Closing my eyes, I inhaled all the fluids and the ray of light into my lungs. At this moment I reached the mouths of the uncountable streets and begin my bewildered journey of trials and errors. I am still here.

Swaying in between

days are streams of consciousness, months constitute of racing blur