Writing

I'm alone here,

And I can feel it -

In the silence that fills the table

In the void of few words 

Separated, closed off

Away from everyone else.

Around me,

Tables talk.

I hear Uno and chess

Comme le soleil, 

Tu laisses sans pensée. 

Le vent, un tempête–

à l’intérieur de ton esprit.

Amor et détester, 

Look upon the king

Sitting high above

The cardboard throne painted gold

With the lies of hate

Held up by the bodies of those killed to make it

I bring my nose close to 

the Lilac

as I smell it's like I'm smelling a universe of

peaceful trickling streams,

birds softly singing,

The thrum,

The pulse,

The ever-increasing

All-consuming

Tick-tock

Tick-tock

Tick-tock

Counting down

The end.

The

End.

We all know it.

To be a teen

Is to lose your sense of self

Completely.

What is right?

What is wrong?

What is cool?

Why do some feel so drawn to popularity

While others are repulsed by it?