Sinking

Have you ever wanted to sink into the sky?

Drown in it.
Breath it in.

Forget everything.


A feeling like falling,
I just keep lying.

Wanting to be brave,
wanting to love.

I'm afraid.

To be betrayed again.
Of betraying.

I just keep hiding,
behind the code of poetry.
Because of this,
no one will ever understand.

Well, no one really reads it
unless I throw it in front of their face.

I dunno,
if I can even publish this one.

I was riding the bus home today.
Stared out the window.
All I did,
but.
I felt like I was being separated
from this stupid body.

A little bit scary,
I'll admit.

But I remembered a bit of how I felt that day.
Now what am I supposed to do?

It's becoming summer too fast,
I'm still wearing my turquoise coat.
I ran to catch up this morning
so I wouldn't be left behind
by that ridiculous yellow school-mobile.
I sweated like a penguin in Texas.
But I wouldn't remove
that coat for some reason.
I think I might be an idiot.
?

That stupid dog
breathing all over my lemon cake.
I stole my mothers chocolate bar
ate the whole thing
handed her the wrapper.

I can't even spell 'turquoise' right
without the spell check.
Dang it.

This is worthless.

What the heck am I writing anyways?

I feel like throwing everything away.

I need a vacation.
I need sleep.
I need alone time.
I need new music.
I need to forget.
I need to stop.

I've noticed I have a habit
of saying 'a bit' .
Now that I've noticed it.
I'm annoyed.

I'm always annoyed.

Why?
How could I not be...

Great.
My stomach hurts.
Stress? Anxiety?

I think this might be a type of therapy.
One that's a double edged sword, though.

I gotta stop writing this rubbish
and start doing my English homework.
I feel pressured to do well in that class
because the teacher recognized me.
How annoying.

Hate the sun. Wish I lived somewhere rainy.
With lots of shade.
But not too cold.
I hate it when my toes and hands turn blue.

This is starting to get boring.
If you're even reading this far, stop it.
You're ruining a few minutes of your life.

Wait.
Did I just admit that I would post this?

My feet hurt...
Went a bit  too far with the jump rope yesterday.
panicked for my ears in band today.
It felt all wrong.

I think its decided,
that I'm bored of my everyday life.
But I'm just being stupid.
The reason I keep living it
is because I'm still somewhat amused.
See?
A liar.

"She stole the beauty from the milk,
and left us with just the whiteness."
I keep remembering that line from a book I'm reading.

This is getting way too long.

Though I hear some poems go on for pages and pages.
Like the Odyssey, or Shakespeare.
Still too long for me though.

I traced the lines of the clouds against the lines of sky
in that bus.
Somehow the things I remember the most
are the little things.

I'm sick of being dead.
"I'm sick in every way but one.."
what way is that though?
Great.

Something different
about the sky today.
Dawn was beautiful.

Puzzle Pieces

Puzzle Pieces
by me(whatever)
to this song: Jenga (Chibita)

With all these unpleasant feelings,
the sins are building up.
Somewhere from far away,
I heard it fall apart.

Why am I up this late?
Why do I feel so discouraged?
Why can't I move forward?

In order not to hurt other people,
I locked my true self away.
Now, where's the key?

There is no future in this monochromatic world.
You held out your hand a thousand times,
but I never took it?

I keep pretending to be strong,
facing the wind of a cold future.
People never notice.
Nobody knows.

I know myself the least of anyone,
I keep searching and searching,
but I still can't find the answer.

Who am I?

I'm sure, along this everyday path
I'll just shrivel up eventually

"Give me back my motivation!"
I screamed like a child.
My thoughts,
My heart,
My self......

I'm sick of lying,
I can't keep up this facade forever
It was fun for a while;
but now,
I'll once again have to say goodbye.

So I'm scattering the puzzle pieces;
they're all in a pile over there.
I didn't like the final picture,
so I'm going to try one more time.

With this world in front of me,
I have trouble just trying to live normally.

Show me,
how can I find the key?

I want to live,
one more time.
Give me another chance.

I'm crying out of frustration,
for the time I couldn't.
I want to look at the past picture,
to have a clue,
how to put myself back together again?

I want to live,
just as I used to that day.

Show me,
how can I find the key?

Time is moving on so fast I can't breathe,
I'm growing and growing farther and farther away.
I've decided,
I can't look down anymore.

I can't look back.

Those times I was hurt,
those times I hurt others.
I will forget them for now,
and just keep moving on.

I've been trying so many times,
for the perfect ending picture.

But I want to change.
So, for now,
I'll just study every puzzle piece,
and admire the way they stick together.

I want to live,
so I'm going to try one more time.

That key I used to search for,
was only for a door to the past.
The myself that was true that day,
is now only a lie.

So I'm going to move on,
I'm searching for the door,
that will lead me to the future.

The puzzle pieces lie in a pile,
I'm still searching how to put them together.

If I keep traveling this way,
I will be able to believe again.

I want to live,
give me another chance.

The future is always in front of me,
I just have to reach out and grab it.

On the way,
I will learn who I am
once again.

The Petite Mistress of Faux Pas

The Petite Mistress of Faux Pas
by me(whatever)
to this song: Bonne justice- hirano Aya

The beginning is marked by the start of a melody;
the crowd enthusiastically applauds.
In the silhouette of the drawn tent curtains,
a single girl dances alone.

Her shoes are pointed as an elves,
her dress as stylish as poised pearls.
Gasps emerge from every corner;
at the perfection of her frail gestures.

Soon enthralled in excitement, the fat man;
singing in the gusty voice exuding a gathering,
For the petite mistress of Faux pas,
the show will commence.

Fixated tears of charcoal,
drawn of apprehension on her oval face.
Hiding a secret unspotted of the audience;
a shadow of disfigurement befalls in circles on the floor.

The band strikes up another tune,
following her hand in a rivet across the sea of ceiling
an illusion of light spotlights her,
desiring the warmth of laughter.

The children in the front are suddenly afraid,
their scavenged clothing trembling with the sound.
In the weather of a rain-scratched tousle
The petite mistress of Faux pas falls to the ground in arch,
embracing her face from the crowd.

From the door in the other room,
the disarrangement of voices cry out.
The tent curtains are eaten in a bilious wind;
the storm has begun.

From the stage, The mistress of Faux pas again stands;
extending her limbs in purpose.
the charcoal running adrift in rivulet's,
a scar stretches across her left cheek.

Revealing her secret, the clown
plucks her hand from mid-air.
Leads her in a stumbling dance across a broken stage,
while the crowd claps in silver puppet strings.

Afraid to listen outside the door,
The petite mistress of Faux Pas covers her ears with her hands.
She dances alone in her deserted mind,
spinning on in endless labyrinths.

while the dolls on the shelves tighten their unchangeable painted smiles,
in the next room, an argument screams from the illusion.
A father,
A mother.

From underneath the darkness of the mind,
The dolls watch their mistress on the stage.
A clown, a singer, and the children before her;
A single girl dances alone.

Living Words

I want to experience so many more things. I'm sick of this repeated every day. With no interest, no excitement, no difference. All stress, all boredom. I'm sick of it all. So tell me, where did my motivation go? And all I can do is recall past feelings to write about. I can't stand this. I want to feel new things! I want to experience the world with all my might and soul, and try and live so hard that I don't even make it back in the end. I don't want to wither in this same place and scenery. I'm not a flower on display; I'm a human being with legs, arms, beating heart, brain, and flowing blood. I want to move farther and farther on. I don't care for competition, I don't care for a system that can only reduce me to a few letters. I'm more than a few words. In fact, once I answer a question in words, it almost always feels as though I wasn't able to convey everything. And besides, most words in the question died. It's a special occasion when words are remembered. What's more important: the words or the person? Truthfully, I already know the answer. It must be the person, right? So why must I be reduced to not even words, and only numbers and letters- dead things. I, a living being, am reduced to a list of dead things (things that didn't even live in the first place-incomplete), to represent what people don't understand about me. Everything I produce is dead. Every word I speak dies as soon as it is released from the tongue. So I thought about this. My goal as a human being is rather simple.

I will write living words.

"Us" From Nebulae= Another Attempt

"Us" From Nebulae= Another Attempt
by me(whatever)
to this song: Campanella (Gumi)

Far away,
you pulled out your claws.
I confess,
Even I don't know how this is going to turn out.

Smoke piling,
on the nearby buildings; a ferocious battle.
Envy? Jealousy?
A melody plays over from an unseen window.

Piano interruption,
In an instant I felt "That's all,"
That's all.

You were only part of my gray skies,
followed over from the dreary every days;
but I found over the distance,
an unnatural anxiety stifling in ashes.

Factories start,
with their early morning bells.
Passive faces,
unborn from emotion, don't even meet my eyes.

I knew from the beginning, didn't I?
That it would end up this way.
So here you are,
with all the right tools
to shred me in pieces once again.

It wasn't enough,
for you to believe in.
A "new me" as slippery as a fish,
I couldn't gain traction on it.

As though a million years ago,
I remember the words I heard as my star burst;
into the thousand hues and colors.
One name: Nebula.
Yet so many particles of shining dust,
thrown away

Who are you? Who am I?
There isn't any answer to that anymore.
We were cast into space,
joined in one body as remnants of our previous self.
You were there; I was there.

You were only part of my gray skies;
followed over from the dreary every days.
the "you" with the claws,
is,
right now,
crying.

Over the monochromatic setting,
a white ball is rising to light the way.
The piano plunking below us
fills a nostalgic childhood memory.

Blinking,
Yet more lights scattered in the outer space
The "new me" as slippery as a fish;
It wasn't enough,
for me to believe in.

Piano interruption,
In an instant I felt "That's all,"
That's all.

That's all.

We are both only waiting,
in our colorful floating space dust,
for a day to return,
for 'us' to return...

Attendance School

Attendance School
by me(whatever)
to this song: The Weekend's Coming! (Rin Kagamine)

I want to get away from here,
I want to go home.
I want to leave this cafeteria of monkies;
I want to tear this poem up.

From the top to the bottom,
the body writing this is a useless bluffer.
Only meant to hide a rebellious spirit inside it- Yet
I can't even succeed at a poker face.

With the acid boiling in my stomach,
I exhaust my anger with strips of paper.
Creating my own puzzle to solve, since
This whole world is boring me now.

I want to get away from here,
I want to go home.
I want to be dissolved in airplane exhaust;
I want to feel loved.

Although I'm sick and tired of these hours here,
I can't lie and blame someone else.
As much as I despise it,
This pencil hasn't written any new words lately.

The beginning of my life was only one such,
normal and boring to anyone but myself.
Born at dusk, and watching it fall,
what was the first thing I saw?

I can't remember it,
I still can't remember it.

I want to get away from here,
I want to go home.
I might be tired of traveling now,
I want to go home.

I want to get away from here,
I want to go home.
I want to leave this cafeteria of monkies;
I want to tear this poem up.

The Wind of Catharsis

The Wind of Catharsis
by me(whatever)
to this song: Kobato Ost- Kaze no Catharsis

Again in this town,
I yearn to be happy.

Although I once gave up on it;
"Impossible!" I screamed.
I find myself now skipping to a rhythm,
heard by me, and only me.

I enjoy mysteries,
witches, cats, and birds.
But although I used to own the world,
It wasn't fun,
to be a tyrant in empty corners.

I'm still alone now,
but I can move on.
I can feel it across the distance,
a heartbeat accelerated;
excited to change the future.

"To Change the World",
might be a little bit too big?
But if I keep putting one foot in front of the other,
I will definitely be able
to change mine.

If things become complicated,
I simply need to remember the origin.
Because even hard and complicated things,
are made of easy and simple ones.

A homemade catharsis;
made of sugar pie and roses.
It took so many years to become
the person I am now.

In the wrappers of chance,
I've thrown away so many just by simple fear.
But today,
If I cast a little spell
here and there,
my determination will begin to grow.

Don't give up,
you lonely girl,
you lonely boy.

Behind the mask of grief,
is a sunny day,
just waiting for you.

Today, Tomorrow, the past,
In the end, what does it all matter?
The only time I really need,
is the time to appreciate why I was born.

Why was I born?
I still haven't found the answer to that.
You can tug your whole life,
and still not understand.
But I have already begun searching.

Even if the world is bound in chains,
Even if the bells begin to ring,
I would like to keep stepping towards the future,
a future that only belongs to me.

The heavy clouds in the sky,
and the headaches as cumbersome as my teachers lectures,
were all blown away by this wind;
The wind of Catharsis.

No matter how slow the advance,
if you are moving forward, its fine.
If there are no hero's around to save you,
Become one yourself!

I have my head up singing with the clouds,
my brain down drinking up the sea.
I know hard situations will come;
I expect them.

They can push me forwards,
So perhaps once I'm done walking,
I can start to run.

You can go wherever you want to go.
The soul is as free as a bird.

I will ride the wind of this Catharsis,
higher and higher into the sweet smell of sky,
and even if I fall
I will fly again.

Short-Circuit (#2)

Short-Circuit

*My aunt asked me to 'rhyme' it a bit, and this is the result

In a sulfur sprouted world,
the artificial humanoid gets up at breakfast.
To a song created of a word
its eyes glaze over
attempting to follow the end of craft.

Along the broken circuitry,
unfinished words plug inside the qualia,
Essential data destroyed with something free,
no relation to history
The mechanical sky pretends to give a story

The leaves of magnetic scrips,
travel behind in blackened silver strips
With the song,
non-stopping in process,

 Time has begun to recess,
flowing pen behind the hydrogen.

La la la la la la la~

Obsolete memory,
removed with yesterdays refuse
startled revolutionary.

Metaphysical emotion,
exists?

Is what the artificial humanoid sought?
Is what I thought.

Word Dance

Word Dance
by me(whatever)
to Moonlight Restaurant

I've used so many words,
each born and spun from my body
twirling as they curl their illusions,
Their steps light like cotton candy.

In these worn-out leather shoes,
ignoring the moon across the sky
I close my eyes and hold hands.

With the figments behind and before me,
a disallowed awakening.

Blue as the splattered night,
My fingertips slowly turn cold.

Short-circuit

Short-circuit
by me(whatever)
to this song: Thoughtful Zombie(miku-tan)

In a sulfur sprouted world,
the artificial humanoid gets up at breakfast.
To a song created of electricity,
it's eyes glaze over
attempting to follow to conclusion.

Along the broken circuitry,
unfinished words plug inside the qualia,
Essential data destroyed with the mind,
no relation to history
The mechanical sky pretends to change

The leaves of magnetic scrips,
travel behind blackened silver feet.
With the song,
non-stopping in procession,
Time has begun to recess,
carried behind the floating hydrogen.

La la la la la la la~

Obsolete memory,
removed with yesterdays refuse
starts with repudiation.

Metaphysical emotion,
exists?

Is what the artificial humanoid processed?
Is what I thought.