i can’t feel anything
behind my eyeballs.
the every fabric
of my flesh
seems unreal.
whatever my knees feel
doesn’t align with how
my elbows scratch
the ground when i fall.
how can i say this to the world?
my brain can no longer guess
the next chapter,
and my ability to write
can never change what
was already written.
i just hope that things are within
my control, under my hands,
so that i can always manipulate it
and turn it the way i want.
i have been playing fair,
but the world isn’t.
and this is not plain sad.
this is the hit of realization
that no matter what you do,
no natter what you say,
no matter what you bring to life,
it will eventually see its end.
it’ll soon bid its farewell
to people’s memory.
you can’t create a legacy
out of a few coins.
they were lying when they told you
that you can create a castle
with little pebbles.
i hope i am just plain sad.
unfortunately, i am not.
this is something else.
YOU ARE READING
Found This Book Somewhere In The Forest
Poetry"Talk to my soul later midnight, when the moon's at its peak. That's the only way of communication that I know, because my physical lips will stutter if I told you about how I want to tear my human skin apart and go out."
