strangers

To all of whom I've never met,
our missed acquaintance, I regret
it does not mean that I'll forget

to wear a suit of white and red
a single drop of blood I bled
white now mixed in red instead

undo my apathetic tone
i blame my stubborn silent phone
the absence makes me feel alone

if only I had clearly shown
explain the facts to you unknown
it would've happened on it's own

we could have had surprising sparks
situation now runs dark
i am absent, i am no part

the words I wrote reside above
do not speak of death or love
just what I am dreaming of

nothing's over nothing's set
in stone you know I won't forget
the path I chose I do regret
to all of whom I've never met

dwelling on the future

There are so many different kinds of people in the world. I think that's implied. Some make you angry, some make you happy, some make you depressed, and a few really shine. You end up searching for truth within a bunch of lies that are merely just subjective interpretations of something containing a constantly ignored core truth. I digress. There's no point in even pondering existentialism. Always wanting something better causes you to only concentrate on the future, which is arguably worse than dwelling on the past. With the capability to make the choice to think about past, present, or future, there must be some of all varieties. Unfortunately, lately I have become a shelter for the future. Pre-Reminiscence if you will, preposterous. Laughable yet baffled at life stifling my rotting thoughts. I feel like a boulder at the bottom of a hill. Wouldn't it be so great to be at the top of the hill. Yeah, I'll just dream about the top of the hill. Well, nothing from the sky is going to get me up there. Legwork.

one

I'm not afraid to express myself, so why not do it publicly on the internet? On here, I won't be insulting anyone, and half of the things I write probably won't make sense. I want to make it artistic I suppose. Take my words with a fast food restaurant's worth of salt and enjoy.