How will I enjoy peace?
My life of dreams
of randomness
felt
like youth filled breaths behind gas stations,
clean,
like intentions intending the unknown not
yet turned bad.

Tell me how to live now that
moments leave me wanting,
tell me how to decipher this feeling
that holds no sense to thoughts but they
mix
like dancers’ young skins touch excitement.

This seems all too real,
so let me reveal this narrative I’ve made.

My mind is like the thing that never wants to
let itself go,
but pretends to.
My character is what my mind has made it,
I make-believe that this is real,
but what is real skips upon plot lines like omniscience would,
but then realizes it’s all too
fake and will
crash into a climax sometime.
This rapid unravelling of plot lines
leaves voices stuck on pages turned that
pound through walls to let me know I can’t touch them.

So, write this down, I am alive.
It looks nice on paper.
Think this later, you are surrounded by it.
Escape my thoughts now, because maybe I never will.
Hear this,
let music dip my desires into nothingness.

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