Seriously, do people these days still appreciate the beauty of poems? I mean, the hidden meaning of each line kept within minimal wordings. The need to not over-explain but get across the meaning just the same. That's how beautiful poems are. This is a poem compilation of a bugged mind, seeking purpose in life. Words you may not put into stories, you'll find here.
Energy freely flowed as I concentrated them right at the tip of my fingers
Today will be the moment so serene yet confusing
How do I start with all these in my mind
I've totally forgotten how I felt back then
Back then, my words are crying
Free-falling from my head, inches of body aching
I wish for some lips to speak these
The buried musings are knocking from the papers
How could it be that I am willing to forget them
Wet palms digging, thoughts so incomprehensible
Yet the sound of the empty room is calming
Maybe today is another story to tell
To whom these would reach
Hold on to that string, pulling yourself up
As what I've done to get myself here
Out of the rabbit hole of insanity and fear
coming soon