I am from another planet,
This is my afterworld.
A life that I lived,
In all of turmoil.

I am unsure of my body,
I do not see myself
In the reflection of water,
In the friction of mirror.

Can you pour me a glass,
In hopes there’s a tear?
That when you whisk my thoughts,
I’ll come out clear.

To win is to create
An instance to lose.
For there is no battle
Without some form of bruise.

Sing to me,
Your heart of reds,
I’ll cling to thee,
My myriad of blues.
We’ll converge, a sunset display,
Recall the dead purple dismay.

I’m a combination of cosmic fragments,
An ethereal understanding undiscovered,
But constant.

That which precedes me
Only completes the
Dwellings lining my internal organs,
Which strum an eternal tune from my origin.

All be-knowing, all naive.
A world of ache, of which we bleed.
Is happiness the absence of ache?
Or is ache the being of absolute state?

A rigid region of good and bad,
A dawn of all that was had.
For light is actual, and darkness a construct.
My life is created through what is destruct.

Saguaro cacti captivate my mind.
Idealistic way to preserve necessities
Distracted my corporations’ amenities.

Sent to observe, perceived to return.
My people corrupt, my life a detour.
My process of memories, a process to forget.
What happens will replace existential justice
And instead replace my heart with unrest.

So I’ll yearn and I’ll plead,
I’ll paint yellow steam.
And I’ll scream to understand exactly what I undertook.
When I came to your world,
For hell, I mistook.