This feeling is an art to me;

This chill in my arteries

Living large isn’t hard for me

Cos a mask isn’t stark to me

I’m surrounded by stars as an oddity

That shine in my eyes so it’s hard to see

But I see them all simmer with an art of glee

And it’s so damn hard for me to breathe

But easy to heave as I try to breathe in

This humid air of our every evening

I’ll grieve but stop just short of weeping

And yearn to learn from the urn I bleed in

I plead for the day that I’m free to leave

But rise every morning just to be appeased

And deceived by these yearnings I need to feed

And to burn these urges that I supersede

To know how conceited I need to be

To be freed of this heart disease

But I believe that this life I lead

Will gift me with a breeze before I’m deceased

But how long must these knees bleed?

How long must I just breathe

While I tremble with the pain making me abstain?

How much do my lungs need?

For how long must I be a seed?

I’ve been pleading for ages to be the making of pages

And to be seen on stages far greater than these

And that’s the life for me

Cos I’m meant for greatness and to grow in stages

Not abating rages or to drown in phases

But while every phase brings a new disease

It seems I will never grow to be a reed