Sketch

Sketch
by me(whatever)
to: A Love Song (It's too clumsy)

you sketched me out on a piece
of ripped, lined notebook paper.
you breathed the first and the last
words I spoke to you.

Between the lines I am divided by,
there is an empty space of white.
Dots for eyes, and ovals for hands
what am I? who am I?

There was no time,
I was dead as soon as I was born.
There is a tattered piece of a part of you
still left in me. 

Open the day to more
than a ruled blue horizon.
Because I've been here a long time,
closed within night.

If its your dream,
where do you think I'll travel to?
A forgotten moment,
since I couldn't resemble you.

Someone is Dead

Someone is Dead
by me(whatever)
to: Pendulum- Hold Your Colour

someone is dead,
I don't know who.

where are her scissors?
oh, I know
on the ground by the table.

The table is raised by books.

someone is dead,
I don't know who.

There's a fly
on the hook hanging from the cieling.

I can't tell
if this is my room or not.

Someone screamed out
last night at 3 AM.

Was it a phone call?
or...

Someone is dead in my room.
I don't know who.

The cereal bowl is dumped in the trash can,
the meat slipped from the pan.
They can smell it by now. 

Is a fingernail in the corner by the door?
Is there a red balloon across the wall?

Oh wait,
I popped it last night.
With scissors.

Who are these people here?
They're too noisy.

I don't like them. 

Someone is dead,
I don't know who
you are.

The rope is lowered
at 9 AM.
It scratches, you know?

No one can see you.
Your number reads from the phone.

1-121-2212

Someones breath lets go
at 4 AM
last night.

The shells layer the apartment
staining my carpet floor.

Only you can see me
only I can see you.

Someone is dead,
I don't know who
I am.

It's too Hot for Thinking

It's too Hot for Thinking
by me(whatever)
to yanagi nagi- Little Forest

It's too hot for thinking,
and a moment ago
the swamp cooler broke
again...

What is summer,
that we lust after it so
is nothing better than
something...?

I'd like to escape my room,
and glide over mountain green
but I find that my destination
isn't on the written path.

Beh,
I'm eating an orange out of season
and pondering over dead people
that I never met.

Because you are not me,
do you not understand the things
that I say, write, and think?
Do I understand you?

I need to clean my habitat,
wash my clothes, and vacuum the floor.
But I procrastinate and create excuses.
yet I still don't feel bad.

six in the afternoon,
the world is still spinning
has nothing changed,
or has something changed?

It's too hot for thinking,
and a moment ago
I fell asleep from reality
again...