sixteen, almost seventeen

alive for sixteen, almost seventeen years.

alive

in the end, aren’t we all copies of the same person, just molded in different manners?

summer haze

summer haze grips my lungs.

fish out of water

no one will help a fish out of water in this society.

corpse

just because i breathe doesn’t mean i am alive.

missing

is there a reason why my heart beats? is there a reason why my lungs continue to draw breath? the air that keeps me alive,the blood that flows through my veins,nothing is enough to fill the space within me,an empty vacuum of nothingthat used to be something that used to be everything but my soul

finite

the hands of the clock meet every minute, every hour. some say it is the meeting between friends, torn apart by different paths who meet at intersections. the paths wind through a forest, and each time they get farther from each other, circumstances bring them back. they are forever fated to be together at one