A sea of confusion.
What now?

I feel like being poetic.
Only so as an excuse for noboody to understand.
Not saying I will. or can.

Excuse me while I dwell in my own world.


Point.
Far.
Checkpoint.



When you've lived for 17 years
the only way you thought it was meant to be...
what are you supposed to do when you realised
that that isn't entirely true.


Run.



Troublesome things are troublesome.
Maybe it IS my fault.
But then again, maybe it is because of that,
that I became this way
and that that is why, it possibly became my fault.




What about me?
What about me?



My fighting spirit?
Hikikomori.



There's no more left.
It became too crowded.
Clautrophobic at a whole other level.


Just one.



Or none.



The rain would be nice.
Horizontally.
Blue right in front.
Quite close too.
A carpet and a cover.
Kaze.


All that's ever needed.
A walk to an orchid.
An oasis.




Freedom of thought.
Freedom and thought.


Growing up sucks.
There's no more excuse.
Naivety.
Acceptance.


If thought is good.
And good things end.
Where does thoughts end?



There.




Destination.
Why?