So much to take, how?:
So much to think about.
Everybody but you.
Too much to drink about.
Too often to think.
What will happen, what will I do?
What could happen, what am I to you?
It's too late, its's always too late.
Every second I wait, every moment that passes me.
Too late.
The stop, the thought, the writers block, the chalk, pen to paper.
Will I ever date her?
Will it happen?
To leave these poems undone.
The stress always there yet, not the face of me it hide behinds.
No, the face of me is quite content.
Everything I do I normally don't question.
But really, should I ought to? for my own lesson?
Look at me lieing through my teeth.
Written a thousand poems, only one explains me.
But not what you think.
One can be a whole, a half is not one.
To make sense there isn't none.
That's the point, philosophy.
Is it really a part of me?
Do I really believe in this existential art I see?
This picture on the wall looking back at me.
Like a mirrior screaming, " Do you like what you see!?"
How often does this world always make it seem like your not cut out to be and unfit to see.
Well, its societies propriety.
It's hysterically, unbearably , it's heresy but wait.
Is this what I see to believe?
The icing so sweet?
When can I achieve?
Will I ever stop?
Will i ever eat too much?
Can I die?
Will this life let me survive?
But how?
After everything i've been through?
But how?
After all i've discovered, there is no you?
This "You" I speak of.
This " You" I idolize?
No, this time it's me.
I exist and you faded.
In with the new, that you created.
Are you happy now?
Does it make a difference?
If I stop being you will I be me?
And if I stop being me will I be you?
Stop.
Last words, im dreaming now.
Causes, I'm bleeding now.
Internal, external?
Your dead, am I?
But if I'm dead, are you?
What are the values?
What are our differences?
Why am I here?
Why did I or you ever come here?
Did I choose, or did you?
Are these my psychological views?
