I am a self-proclaimed outcast, lost in worlds between inked pages.
I wonder about parallel universes, and if they truly exist.
I hearfootsteps in the dead of night, when nobody is home.
I see ghosts drifting past on camera screens and peeking around corners.
I want for people to recognize that they’re too loud, like magpies thrown into a frenzy over shiny trinkets..
I am a self-proclaimed outcast, lost in worlds between inked pages.
49Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ75GNU9H5cL
I pretend to smile, to nod along, while my thoughts are elsewhere.
I feel as if the words on pages will consume me.
I touch fluffy clouds, darkened, in a nighttime sky.
I worry that I will become a physical oxymoron, a living ghost, to walk the world in a state of unreality.
I cry for the younger generations around me who don’t know the pains of growing up.
I am a self-proclaimed outcast, lost in the worlds between inked pages.
49Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡRHHRV9U74E
I understand that the realities painted between covers aren't real.
I say they are.
I dream of blurs, flying, feathered wings held together by wax and hope, a modern Icarus.
I try to be the best I can, even somedays it feels next to impossible.
I hope that one day, a book will open up and swallow me into its words.
I am a self-proclaimed outcast, lost in the worlds between inked pages.
ns3.137.150.11da2
