Alone in a populated world

Time and people move around me, but I feel neither.
Silently awake, feeling the fatigue and sleep of the day that I can not succumb to.
Its cold out here, especially when not a soul walks, talks, or breaths around me;
the only warmth coming from lighting up this deadly addiction between my fingers.
The day is full of speech, but I hear none of it; a constant screech of words,
but this night, which is a twin of every other, is my blanket.
I see the occasional car or individual pass by, but I am behind my wall,
and from here they no not that I watch; as I climb just to get a glimpse, and hopefully
think..."Do they think as I do"..."Are they out here for the same reasons I am",
and these thoughts comfort me, until I realize they are just nomads; simply passing by,
these thoughts the furthest from there minds.
I see the eyes of the stray cat staring at me, they wander, and they, they must know why I am out here; she stares intensely at me, and she must know;
she must know why I stand silently in this night, this beautiful night.
I see the cigarette growing smaller, and its almost time to go in, where it is dead;
at least the night is full; silent yes, but by no means dead.
I see the last of the smoke leave my lungs...its time to go in...
but I will be back here, where my thoughts are understood, and misunderstood;
where the beautiful night covers me; yes, I do believe she understands me.

The night seems to be the mistress to my emptiness.

To My Past

Impossible to convert emotion to paper;
Impractical to mold words into emotion.
As I am, I empty myself.
Forming the art that extends unto you;
A plethora of time fails to reveal
The reality of situations continuously veiled.
Time is a thief, breaking sentience;
All that's left is minimal patience.
Dog-eared memories and sun-stained photos
Leave lingering ghosts of innocence
That leave footprints trailing...
Questions left unanswered;
Words left unspoken;
Tracks left untread;
Touches left unfelt.
As I am, I empty myself.
Intersecting, identities remain.
As you are, always etched here.
Intersecting, identities remain.

Tapping away.

Tap. Tap. Tap. Restless moments and repetitive beats. The foul odor of stale cigarettes and coffee. Detached and connected. Numbed sensations and gray vision. Surrounded by people yet completely alone. Tap. Tap. Tap. Cannot sit still. Nervous and anxious, bottled up into one dazed mind. Droning on yet sitting still. The bitter aftertaste and acrid smoke kill the senses. Tap. Tap. Tap. Focus. Function. Finish. Running in place, striving for something just out of reach. Realizations and dreams falling away. Desperately grasping with a weakened grip. Tap. Tap. Tap. Slowing the pace. Consciousness and perception suffocating to dark.

identified clashes.

a haunting feeling of losing control while choking on the very emotion that threads through my veins and helps create the beat for my heart becomes an ironic disaster. the clashing of words and actions; the music of the lonely and the dead mingle with the verses of those that can't remember how to breathe -- this becomes the movie script, the opening credits followed by the end with no middle identity. if we live to forgive and forget, where does real pain reside? manifesting and growing into the breaking of the contract that contrasts with the place where everyone can release their memories. reading how you are supposed to act and actually following through with the plan are two separate aspects that i can't always grasp because the nightmares are far too real to be excused. i fumble along, allotting time to take its toll on the mind that contains the secrets of the skeletons that don't speak... but play on your happiness until there's nothing left.

Alone

It is so simple.
To ignore this urge.
Screaming and tearing
Throughout the soul.
This innate desire
Burning throughout.
Day after day,
failure after failure.
The feeling just grows,
consumes, and devours.
Loneliness and wishfulness
lay beside me
As I goto sleep at night.

Slavery

Slavery. Always working, exerting, serving. Paid in part, the debt keeps growing - into such a great structure, housing you from the cool rain drops exerted by the cloud of reality. Slaves to industry - all these things we don't need. Working to owe. Gluttonous consumers. Indentured Servants. Working for goods instead of gain. For cheap thrills and dodgy things, hopes of freedom dwindles into nothing. Mindless ants. Working all the time. Productivity to the max, there's bills to pay. When given a break, exhaustion takes hold, pacifying the billions - creativity is lost. Degenerates they scream, to those who still think. Wasting their time with nothing to show. They have no possessions, their status is null. Our society keeps on building, yet digging its grave