Today I just feel like writing

its weird because i haven't felt that in a long time.

Somewhere between the popular sport of heartbreaks and bad friendships,

I lost the lead to this pencil that helps me put my mental psych ward to rest. 

I began to open my eyes in the middle of my dreams and chose them in the midst of reality, 

savoring every bitter moment.

The dreams that I used to dream and the love I use to bow down to was now territory for sale.

Alas, I had joined the rest of the plebeian public filtering feelings, chanting fuck love get money;

only to disappear into the crowd to get a moment to peer into my locket and remind myself of the hell I was living.

My existence was not designed for denying what I felt, for conforming to the public.