Sometimes, my poems start with "sometimes".
Those sometimes I cry.
Time, I do always write about it.
No grasp, but I try.
Crimes, I think I'll commit one once.
Fear shadows those thoughts.
Prays, though I feel like an atheist.
Please ignore it, gods.
Slaves, what I think we all become.
To things, we think we want.
Poem, no, it's just a disguised story.
One of the many ones.
A story, with no end, or a beginning.
It's of a different kind.
Stress, my only cause of disappointment.
And It's a long line.
Love, I thought, could handle it well.
Foolish! I was wrong.
Reason, It's not you or the system over us.
It was me all along.
Scared, I thought that I can't ever be.
Cause you always were behind.
Empty, I always am, I need some more time.
With no one but you as mine.
Story, I am trying to write about love.
Sadness is what occurred.
Fear, if not? What might be love, then?
Of breaking someone's heart.
Maybe it's time, I need to change.
I'll tell you the things I see till range.
I see you as vacuum in a jar.
Of space that I love.
Much care and love to it.
You don't get to sob.
Surrounded by the forces.
Atmosphere, enemy of yours.
It's me, yes! I am the jar.
I won't break, pushes I endure.
There's no cure, once a hole.
Nothing will be the same, I'm sure.
Delicate and vulnerable, oh you!
A story for my emptiness, you're pure.