It grows, without notice nor whisper… but the night that screams,
calls upon the 58 drafts of versusable self-debate. That, I wrote.
One of them was this, titled with Feeling Blue & Pink:

“I can describe it as having words unspoken
or love unchannelled, stuck in my own heart,
the feeling lingers like orange on fingers.
it’s tasty yet somehow rusty, expired to sour evil
…a feeling of being dizzy with your head on level.”

Layers of thought are found,
upon opening a drama almost named with Happiness is Sad.

Conclusion is very near to say the brain is so heart-conquered,
giving birth to wicked speeches from the womb of bloody battlefield,
this time it’s called Whole Hunger:

“You are not a thing, but exist beyond.
Blue water bottle to drink…
Plastic containing air, neither breathable nor thinkable.
On my hands, board and broad.
Everything, holding my everything.


Letting the words control, and the mind let go.
Rules that apply, to perish to tonight.
As emotions leaks and logic breaks,
wishfully obeying a new slavery,
of self-forgetting.

No identity.
As the world shows no empathy,
in the end it buries; body, soul, mind, into soils.
Left only awhile of cries, from those who one day,
will join… there, even they aren’t prepared.
Until comma, comma, dots, dots, cross…

Lies burning blue scheme, where…
I resist myself, and desist ego.
Carelessly following,
hopelessly self-not knowing.

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