and then i ran after a woman;
a soon to be angel that's grown,
and with every encounter, my mind is still blown.
my mental capacity i have considered
looking at in depth, analysing.
the pinnacle of my solitude aided in realising
that i craft and mold a world around me,
one which is comforting, one which grounds me,
but that dimension - my ill mind -
is not so gentle, never too kind,
for it creates characters, roles,
makes me set out to reach certain goals,
all of which are too surreal to come true.
through both my eyeballs, the world i view.
content daily, can all relate
to what i pen now from a distance;
everything dies and flees in an instant.
who's really capable of holding the weight
of all their thoughts inside their head?
i tried to do so, but i just bled.
then comes nothingness, the feeling of empty,
which, when is here, tells me you sent me
to sole observe, jot down my theories.
at night i ache from being too serious,
but i just despise wasting my time
on something meaningless; just like a lime,
the aftertaste stays and transforms your face
into something you want to erase.
when all calms down, my heart inhales
and takes a break from all the females.
