And i dont know you anymore, or perhaps i never did, before.

Who was i t think i was different;
Just a page boy- nothing more.

The page boy- the silent role
someone he chanced, a heart he stole
but heart's a heart without its soul
a mere organ you can control

and here he falls, t his knees
this heart he so yearns t please
'No, no' he hears it scream
is it the heart, or is it a dream

Dignity and esteem thus low they lie
how much more before they die
Roses wither for carnations deep,
carnations, carnations, those he'll keep.

But torn away from his grip
carnations removed heap by heap
and with it, a void of anticipation;
an anticipation of a beeping sound
an anticipation- never found.

and here he falls, t his knees-
this time not for a heart t please
but rather a realisation,
a surge of indignation.

Still filled with love
of love and sore
here's an actor that's played out his act;
like an informant that's served out his purpose- wanted no more.

Thrown, stepped and splattered,
all over this cold hard floor,
this life- August 14, 1984.

Who was i t think i was different;
Just a page boy- nothing more.

Secrets of an innocent world.

No hatchery, no plot
of innocence and secrets
pure naivety in thought

No guessing, no doubt
of love and contention
the ignorance of flout

I'm tired of trying, trying t comprehend
those things i don't know, those things i can't understand.
those neuro-mechanisms, within cartilage and skull-
i implore t know why; i seek t know how.

Why can't we be like them-
like how we were at young,
simple, honest, sincere
like the songs, we have sung.

Truth, therefore i ask-
nothing more, alas.
t break me free from these chains of speculation,
these surges of contemplation,
only, for a little more innocence, inside.

two more weeks.

the workload- still untouched.
im trying, very hard, t get down t it.
'soon', cries procrastination.
soon.
from here on, im taking it slow.

it isn't easy,
and i look forward t the day
i can say
'im over you.'