Whispers in my head 

The stranger voice that pulled my ebb, my flow 

I look around me 

These whispers became visible, ribbons of mist 


Influences pulling, gnawing 

Biting at the ankles of every passerby 

Shackling the spirits of souls sold out 

The Self is diluted 


The world became a scarier place 

Full of hate, full of anger and fear 

I could not turn back, I had seen too much 

The child was behind me, I walk forward 


The World, a better place? 

Flash blinded by the realization 

This was not what I thought life was 

Dandelions, bloodied with rust 


I write for the eyes that have been beaten shut 

I write for the ears that have been bruised and bled 

I write for the mouths that can no longer utter a cry 

I write for the hearts that can no longer love 


The ones who have hardened into putrefied versions of themselves 

The ones who have lost all hopes, dreams, individual thought 

The ones who try to look back, who try to relive the days which there was happiness, simplicity 

What is happiness? Dandelions, blooming with dust 


We are One but we have blinded one another 

We are Individual but we are prejudiced to each other 

We kill one another in the name of our Beliefs 

We torture each other in the mindset that it is our Right 


This is why I write. 


I write for the eyes to see the dandelions sweet 

The ears to hear the whispers 

The voices to speak 

The hearts to love 


To find the Self 

To find the dreams, hopes, and thoughts individual 

To find happiness, 

In a world that is dead, I cry for life. 


Together we can breathe life 

Blind for the right reasons 

Individual, but united 

And equal, I write. 


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