ZakuroWords
Yeah, I write stuff in my spare time. Here's a sampling of things I write when I get bored, depressed, or start hyperventilating and seeing giant bass-playing chickens that want me and my clarinet to front their new pop/rock/disco/new age/classical band.
Pseudo-self
You say that I'm unique
that I'm special.
Then why do you want me
to fill someone else's role?
You can deny it all you want.
But I can tell
I see it in your mind.
You want me to be another person,
an alternate.
Like I only exist
to fill someone's place.
Not that you even notice
that anything is wrong.
As everyone exists, oblivious,
I scrape my uniqueness onto paper
in blurred black and white.
But no one cares
because I'm just the replacement
for all the people
you don't want to leave.
Let Me Out
I cannot hear you.
I sit alone.
I am above the world
of flesh and of bone.

I am disgusted.
I see the truth:
the world is messed up,
dirty, and uncouth.

I want to leave this
and fly far away.
But humanity strangles me,
making me stay.

I have to get away,
leave it all behind.
And meet people who like me,
people who are kind.

Enough with the pain,
I won't shed a tear.
I beg you, my body-
let me out of here!
Walls
cerulean tear-walls
bring out the monsters
that flow
crying walls
blue ocean
trembling seething
stirring life
itself
as robot-people
pour molten emotion
into the
life-sea
spinning
creating
crying onto sick
cobalt walls
mixing me into
some un-living
freak-mashed
monster
scrawling on walls
Unreal World
Reaching out to feel a lover's touch
to be held in a pair of strong arms
Falling through your body,
it's like a spirit's ancient breath.
Or is it just me? What is real?
Am I the mirage, or are you?
Is it really that important?
Why do we question everything
if we really don't exist.
We're all just figments of
each other's imaginations.
Life to death and back again.
Time isn't just a straight line, but a circle
never ending round.
Rolling, spinning, we're all just pawns
in some celestial game.
But why? Why must we play this role?
And what is reality?
In theory, it's everything,
but, truly, it's nothing.
And this immense black universe doesn't exist.
A holographic cosmos
inhabited by metaphorical beings
Looking at my spectral love
if we don't exist, how can I see you?
For you only live in my subconscious mind.
You're but an imaginary creature
and you're very real to me.
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