We try to find meaning between the spaces

And we try to find a home amongst the faces.

We try to find faults in other’s graces

And we try to find excitement in the same old paces.


What occupies the mind is considered a waste of time

And what captures the attention of valuable mention.

Where’s the room on my shelf space for yesterday’s memories

When what’s left of stolen time is nothing but reveries?


The stale air in the room makes a home in my lungs

Where the pride around my neck once so delicately hung.

The jumble of words in my head never so neatly strung

But tangled like webs since the time I’ve been young.


What makes me feel alive so rarely comes around

Yet promises me liberty where it so greatly abounds.

Because when you’re trapped in your mind, the world is out of bounds

And conversations merely resemble bleak imitations of sounds.


We find hope in solidarity but my forte is solitude.

We find faith in regularity but my rhythm needs attitude.

We find comfort in consistency, but it contrasts with my mood.

We find strength in popularity, but i’m overwhelmed by it’s magnitude.


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