If you think it, you are right.
Left, right, sideways, upside down.
You are right.
Focus on me or don’t.
Listen to me or don’t.
Either way, you’re right.
Because what you see is all that will ever be.
Not because it’s true, but because it’s the only version you keep feeding.
Tell me your story and I will tell you no lies.
But don’t forget to listen when others are speaking too.
Not to obey them.
Just to notice how many rules they hand you like invisible contracts.
Take this, but don’t take that.
Eat this, but don’t eat that.
Consume, but don’t consume too much.
Spend, but don’t spend wrong.
Live, but don’t live too loudly.
Dance if you want to dance,
but not too loud.
Laugh if you want to laugh,
but not too strange.
Because laughter is the best medicine
until they call you crazy,
and then crazy is all you will ever be.
You say you know me,
but I don’t exist.
You don’t exist.
They don’t exist.
It’s all happening inside a mind
trying to make sense of echoes.
Get up.
Go to the gym.
Eat.
Work.
Sleep.
Repeat.
They call it a good day.
The sun is shining.
Now it’s raining.
The clouds are blue.
No, now they’re purple.
Maybe pink.
A soft orange if you tilt your head.
They said be a good dog.
But have you ever met a bad one?
Or just dogs that didn’t understand the leash.
There’s a sign by the old train station
that says something no one ever reads.
It’s always been there.
Or it never was.
There is no light at the end of the tunnel.
There is only the opposite of darkness.
And without darkness,
there would be no night.
But the night steals the day
if you let it convince you
that stillness means failure.
Look out the window.
There is nothing to see here.
And somehow, everything.
Call me.
Don’t call me.
Chase me down the street.
Talk is cheap.
Much action is money.
Money grows on trees.
And trees grow everywhere.
But somehow we’re still starving.
Take the red pill to feel powerful.
The blue pill to feel okay.
The white pill to stay alive.
Or maybe not.
Take the shot.
Eat your vegetables.
Call your mom.
Call your dad.
Remember, they’re the reason you’re here.
And also the reason you’re confused.
The hotel door creaks at night
when the sleepers are asleep.
Like something is always entering a room
you thought was empty.
I want to tell you everything.
Give you all the answers.
But you’re not asking the right questions.
Ask.
Please.
I have the answer you’re looking for.
The problem is,
you keep asking the world
instead of the silence.
One minute I’m me.
The next minute I’m someone new.
Someone new to you.
It’s 4 a.m.
I’m supposed to be at the gym.
It’s 7 a.m.
I’m supposed to be commuting.
It’s 5 p.m.
I’m stuck in traffic again.
They said there would be days like this.
Boring.
Nothing new to report.
Lost somewhere inside my head,
waiting for the meal prep to finish cooking itself
in a stainless steel oven
that hums like it knows more than I do.
It’s quiet in this house.
Too quiet.
They told me not to answer the ghost.
But the ghost is getting louder,
talking to the monster under my bed.
I left the light on for you.
You never showed up.
Maybe you were never supposed to.
Maybe I was just learning
how to sit in a room
with my own reflection
and not ask it to save me.
I guess that’s all for now.
Or maybe that’s the only thing
that’s ever been happening.
Leave a comment