Pisaries Creator

Imagine standing on top a tall building
just breathing, 
the act that was so carefree once
is now difficult.

Ten years ago,
I was looking down at cars
jetting to some destination
called Z, Y, and Z. 

Another overpriced apartment complex
for the newest generation
that thinks me sleeping 
is a weakness.

The sun dies every night
and I exist to those 
that hate me even though
I am not famous.

Somewhere near my head
a fly buzzes, and little birdies fly
close to the trees
not making any noise.

Water rises as the heart
beats in the sunken sand,
and no one questions 
the natural effects of waiting.

There is enough space 
to leave behind the riddles,
the thoughts do not move 
in the same way.

One lane is calming, 
the other frantic,
there is nothing in between
but clapping for the buffoons.

It is time to stand tall
like the building with windows
fight for the reflection,
and force the mirror to bend.

I can overtake natural
beauty with death,
and there is nothing left 
but the illusion of caring people.

Empty decoys ten years ago,
all of them unconnected,
pure unnamed uselessness 
because balance is never tame.

Never turn away, 
divert my eyes from power,
it is all I need 
for my pathetic self.