Non-fiction

I present my life,

as I felt it as a matter of fact
The presentation,
oh, now it all seems like a big blur

No 'how to' manuals,
no 'to be' guides,
Think, quest, and I became
What did I become?
A monsterly saint of my own decide
and a hero of my insipid domain
No boundaries or emotions,
to condemn or restrain
like a movie with classifications,
but not hinderances to
alter its constrains

Between speaking and listening
bordering often on insanity
knowing well that only
written works tend to remain
heretic or sacrosanct,
debatable but a proof of
an insanity,
that was schematic but unremitting
This unscripted beginning is only
prolonging in my remaining inane

Let's not search for proof
of our existence now,
what is there to blame!

Understand

Not finding the words
not knowing where it lands
not hoping for it all to end
and not knowing why it's all so broken
from wherever I stand

Not having to familiarize strangers
and not growing old amongst the hold

not wanting to know or hold

and not knowing what I was to withhold

No break for pauses

nor glancing for visions

no understudy or preperation helpful

for these unexpected visions

In negation and amidst denail

what is the make up of this senile?

They say they know,

but yet we know not what we do

and yet we run wild in our directions

after things and behind feelings

we call our own

Understanding - the basis for our knowledge

Understanding - the knowledge of all that's around

Understanding- the patience to know and forget,

of knowing and yet not showing

like the tear behind the smile of a clown...