I stare on beyond the tree lines,
After dusk,
The air is stagnant and murky,
And I wonder for a brief moment why I feel so alone.

Sitting here in the idleness of a train is tiring,
You look out to everyone around you,
Perhaps a guide to steer towards,
A crutch to lean on.
But people weren’t made to be maps and road signs.
They’re not here to fix things.

Sometimes when I sit here in the stagnant morning air I feel poisoned,
I wonder how much of it has seeped into my blood,
Clouded my thoughts,
Corrupted my soul.

I see too much of those tiny black clouds in my peripheral,
Sometimes I sit while the world is busy keeping constant,
I wonder what it feels like to fly,
Or at least taste freedom. 

I wonder if there’s room for me out there, Throughout the plains and past the sky.
I wonder if I was meant for greater things.
The solemnness of my night couples with loneliness in perfect harmony,
They salute the same statues,
They drink from the same cup,
And I am left wondering why I’m so cross-eyed,
In a world that petrifies me. 

BIATA, ‘solemn summer thoughts

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