Midnight Moonlight

leave me for who i am

Throughout life,

There's a cycle.

Thoughts and emotions

Are recycled.

We sit idle;

We believe in life

Like one would be naïve enough

To believe in a Bible,

But we have no idols

To cling onto.

We only have

Our own vitals

And the titles

We give each other

To pretend we have something

Worth living for

Or else we become

Suicidal.

In the infinite stream

Of diluted dreams

That cross my mind,

I hope one day,

I can scream and feel something

Through this empty fortress

Someone heartless

Seemed to have built.

Throughout my life,

There looks to be a theme.

I push away everything

To the extremes

Only to wish to have

Morphine injected

Into my bloodstream.

Maybe for once I can

Deem myself numb enough

To sign with my own blood

The streamline of thoughts

That are confined within

The design of my being.

Maybe I shouldn't decline

The belief of the divine

When comes around the deadline

Of my own lifeline.

Throughout the cycles of life,

Friends are being recycled.

They sit idle

Like strangers watching a crime

Happen in front of their own eyes.

They stay quiet while

I punch through my vitals.

Maybe someday,

When they find me wide open,

They can see

All that I have hope in.

Maybe a word

Will be spoken

About the fate

Of the broken.

Even when

The effects are rippling,

The only thing I can be

Is forgiving.

Maybe in some ways,

It feels different.

Maybe the intentions

Are ignorant

Or maybe my presence

Is only so insignificant

For everyone to seem

So indifferent.

In the cycles

That turn the world round,

Endings and beginnings

Are being recycled.

I sit idle;

Waiting for them

To appoint me

Towards something that

Can make me feel

Like I am vital.

Unfortunately, I am no better.

All of my wounds,

And the ones I have given,

I am bound to a life

Which can only lead me

Underground.

Crowned as misfortune,

There's very few that have found

A way to reach me.

The compounds within my brain

Create a battleground

As I listen to the sounds

Of birds chirping all around.

Drowned in an array of emotions,

Unable to stop myself

From going round

As would the cycles

Within life.

Feelings are hurt

And furthermore recycled.

I sit idle,

Losing touch

With the reality of the tremors

That guide me.

Back then,

My soul would already

Have roamed free.

But, I am not at sea

Waiting for an anchor

To pull me back

To where I should be.

Although, perhaps the end

Of who I was then

Has come again

To haunt the lands

Which rest between my hands.

But, the wave is now tidal.

Like a disciple

All I need to do

Is sit idle

And wait for a sign

That will be vital

Which will help me

Break the cycle.

Realistically,

Life goes on

And like a cycle

It can't be broken.

You can't open

Or find hope in

A new beginning

When you don't believe

A disaster

Can create a change.

A love once an ideal

Which now seems unreal;

If only strong enough

To make a wave tidal;

To make someone suicidal;

To make one feel vital,

But never enough

To break the cycle.