I write poems to reflect what I see, but without feedback, I don't know who is me.

Sometimes I believe I am a Devil's Plaything. I don't believe too many others know-how Death beacons. Trapped in my thoughts the whole world is never truly on display. Thoughts that are gone haywire are always part of my way when always traveling from black to white, white to black, from mania to depression,

sometimes, maybe, someday I will never come back to the center. A memory that was forgotten that never really left its mark. Brilliance is not always a shining forever star that everyone is able to spark.

Falling down so many times,

when is the moment when it is suitable that we don't get back up? For the world is made in a flux of creation and destruction,

happening on too large of a scale to know how the story will ever end. I am not a Jedi Master that can always know the Endgame and checkmate.

When the whole world is burning will those that are still standing realize what they are fighting for when every single thing that matters is at stake?