my thoughts like wet bubbles drip drop onto the floor laying there with the soap suds in the mud dirty from love, lonely because my only company are the walls and inner monologues.

and now I'm torn

like yesterday, today I breath and sneeze with the ease of a westernised military invasion. Reasons change with every step and with every breath I forget, where I am, where I'm going, and why I even left.

So now I'm torn

silhouettes in the mind's eye, try to become my reality, so easily pushed back by the trivial and mundane. the grey in the brain, manages to tame the storm rising from chest and what is left is an itch better left unscratched.

but now I'm torn

now my fresh country air is tarnished with black soot, started with fire, inhaled, then stamped out under my foot and while in those first moments, the ego is held at a bearable level, it dries up and dies as the blunt knives chop away my capacity for change.

and now I'm torn

whether I wait a day or an hour it's still being used and abused, still being seen as unclean and ungodly. it must be mistrusting to look me dead in the eye, cause no one hold a gaze after they phrase "the truth". in a roundabout way they play with words and leave what "is" undisturbed.

So now I'm torn

when what i define as myself doesn't help my external view, bounced back through distorted glass, and the I becomes a U. a battle commences as I balance on fences and ask where do I fall? or do I even move at all?

and now I'm torn.