The trees are coming into leaf
Like something almost being said;
The recent buds relax and spread,
Their greenness is a kind of grief.

Is it that they are born again
And we grow old? No, they die too,
Their yearly trick of looking new
Is written down in rings of grain.

Yet still the unresting castles thresh
In fullgrown thickness every May.
Last year is dead, they seem to say,
Begin afresh, afresh, afresh.

I don't understand why people have to connect things with feelings.
Can I not just be me and do things without people thinking I feel a particular way.
I don't analyse the things I do, there is no ulterior motive, I live for the moment, for what makes me feel good.
My life is about me.

'It's not like we're together...you can screw whoever you want...'

Butterfly
Or falling leaf,
Which ought I to imitate
In my dancing?

And if she were to admit
The world weaved by her feet
Is leafless, is incomplete?
And if she abandoned it,
Broke the pivoted dace,
Set loose the audience?
Then would the moon go raving,
The moon, the anchorless
Moon go swerving
Down at the earth for a catastrophic kiss.

It doesn't matter that people don't understand; everyone lives in their own separate world, untouched by those around them until they collide, throwing each other out of orbit, disrupting the life that each is living.
There are two options, either this new course is better than the original or it's worse, there is no in between. And if it's better, then the planet continues it's orbit and life flourishes. And if it's worse, then life diminishes and the planet spends endless energy and time struggling to go back to where it started, looking back always on how things used to be, never thinking to make the future better, different.
I want to live alone in my little world, far off in another universe where I am not touched by the rays of the sun they revolve around, where I am not noticed by the planets that would revolve around me given the chance, where I can live my life orbiting a moon.

Home Is So Sad

People change themselves to fit the way others see them and instead of changing back, they fully become that new person, even after the influence has disappeared. They wither in this new form because they have no life to sustain them, they are ‘bereft of anyone to please’ but they cannot change back, what once had such promise is nothing but an empty shell, ‘a joyous shot at how things ought to be, long fallen wide’. They appear the same from the outside, but that original love has ripped out what was inside and replaced it with something else, something pathetic.

Something that is, as yet, unfinished

The words fall from her lips and lie before me on the floor, they tell me over and over again that I am a selfish person and don’t deserve the life I live. She turns her face away from me like it hurts her to look upon me; I hold back the tears that are sure to choke my eyes if I don’t closely guard my thoughts. My tears would mean nothing to her and so are not worth my time, they can be discarded like the perfectly formed leaves on autumn trees. She’s growing colder now and I feel myself reaching for that fading warmth, I know I won’t be complete again until it returns; but how can I ask for what is not freely given? I don’t want to appear ungrateful—her coldness is more than nothing.
Alone, she says, we are all alone; at first I don’t believe her words, it is such a leap of faith to believe what has not been experienced, but I understand now and I wish I didn’t. To feel so alone in a crowded room, drowning in nameless faces—they all mean nothing to me, but I can’t bear to hurt them, not a single one.
She’s laughing at me now, I am not an individual, I am not unique, I don’t stand out. And for some unknown reason she finds my despair amusing—she catches my eye, smiles, looks away. I know there is only one person she takes notice of and it’s certainly not me but she can’t decide whether to confide in me or to keep her words to herself, wrapped up inside, haunting her thoughts, threatening to explode up and out into this real world.
There is always someone that keeps us anchored to this life, however unimportant they may seem.
This time I laugh at her, she is so naive, she doesn't understand what it means to feel.
This is all a foreign concept to her and she is drowning, throwing her arms in the air, she fights for breath but I will save her; I save them all in the end.

Oh.

There are so many things I could say to you if I had the words
But then again, I may say nothing at all
I quite enjoy just sitting and watching your face as you talk at me
I went without it for so long, I don't think I could do that again
So yes, I may say nothing
Ill just go on laughing with you, screaming at you
Acting as though I couldnt care less


And god damn I talk a lot of shit.

Over and out