Collection.

With your eyes closed, watching a strange show play out in your head but you were smiling somehow.
And your day froze and everyone in it, sat still as a rose, but we were moving somehow.
Back to when we started, losing who we were, maybe we should only tip a bottle back to keep us filled up.
Back to when we started, losing who we were, everybody knows that, you'd break your neck to keep your chin up.

I never stop feeling strange because you never know if you really change.
You can never tell if your center stage is thin as glass and never meant to think
And you never feel good or bad only strange and unprepared, because I never see it coming or me leaving
And I will always, never know. And I will always.


     And I know that as soon as I tell you the truth about how I feel you're going to freak out, punch another whole in another wall and speak ill of me to everyone you know. At least maybe for a minute or two. I have with my intelligence, learned that everything done in anger is always almost immediately something you regret. So I say to you, this is why I can't understand why you do these things and why I don't understand how you can possibly get so angry so very easily. Please just stop it.

     I understand anger I just don't understand people's ability to let it be in themselves. I don't understand how someone can possibly think that they can gain from anger, if they do think that. And if they don't think that, if they know that they have nothing to gain from anger how can they, if in a right state of mind, allow anger to be present. Are they not in control of their emotions and thoughts and feelings?

     I've recently finally experienced anger. It was a thing, to me that made me feel like breaking everything around me and I did not know how to exude what I was feeling in a non-violent way. Or maybe that was rage, differing from anger in that it was not filtered and it was not censored for the sake of others. I was hiding all of my emotions, I was hiding them from my father, because he dreads the moments that I am weak and I cry. I hide them from my mom because my dad told me not to burden her with them. And I hide them from my friends because I want them to remain my friends.

     Perhaps after all of that hiding the volcano that is my emotions erupted and my anger flowed like lava destroying everything in my path. Or perhaps I should find better friends, as I believe I have.

      I am only a man, a boy, really, who wishes beyond everything that I could be something.