Life becomes too complicated chasing 100 grand. So we beat ourselves with clubs blowing all we earn because we bottle our emotions. Sipping and lured by the hooks of open legs. While our kids asking and looking to be tucked in beds. Awakening to another person every week or month. Then we ask ourselves we going to make this bread. Sour doughs we’ve lost the desire to put in work. No commitments but stuck in the ideas of love, confused into thinking it’s lust. Yet I’m trying to make sense, create change. Stuck in American dreams while the average American realizes they hardly sleep. Keeping the lights on or water running. Still, we entertain ourselves. Allowing the screens shift the direction of life so in turn we miss. Mental prisons now seen as the norm. But who am I to speak? So you ask. A 26 year old afflicted, conflicted citizen resisting the addiction, the system. Working 9 to 5 to pass by life thinking before he would die by 25. Rushing time as if I could exceed my limitations. Writing intricate poetry and art with each brush stroke in the oceans of emotions. Known before as the shadow. Lurking and searching the purpose amidst the darkness. What can be said that I haven’t experienced. A man once broken and now restored. Imperfections soaring as memories long past. Reciting my testimony and thoughts to help bring a cause to affect the state we’re in. Let me bleed using poetry.