Moving, always

I have packed boxes in my dream Packed stories, packed books Packed conscience I convince myself that I'm free That I'm not living in a shadow between her and him and you and me That there are no eclipses, no tan shapes on my skin And these are all lies I tell someone that I like to lie a lot That someone is a stranger And I unload my will for a short while, like packed promises packed cigarettes Smoke threatening to overtake my skin But outside, the stranger smiles The trees rumble on with the oncoming trains What do you intend to do with screaming match at 4am in four walled house? I just woke up to see the clock hanging upside down (I'm too tired to fix this) These are my mistakes, see? I'm giving you a list A loose grip, a fair out It's not insincere, the way I want you to know everything about me There's a garden in my backyard left by my mother And I like the plants that grow there, I like the vines and weeds But when it comes down to rain when it comes down to two choices i want to flee from— Tomorrow, and what I wish for Tomorrow is not what I wish for But, ah, how do I end this? I'm selfish So are you Two selfish people living together, exchanging fingernails like hesitant trophies Two selfish people who don't know what they want Two selfish people, lost— In the kitchen of my mind. The packed sardines The vegetable knife, pepper and cheese I know how to prepare demise I know how to try There are hallucinations though, of real people And there are shadows which comfort Tripping over my own socks, into your arms You are my phantom being, a philosophy A poem rearranged by a lack of will Heinous, you say? The way I work? Disgusting? There's no organised way to perceive things, darling My pet fish of seven years, my new cat that hates me My mom, my guilt My petty revenges I never act on— Oh, but guilt never needed confirmation Just a flustered, lying mess A stilted disposition (And I've got both) An apprehension, colourful propositions Harsh understanding, flickering light bulbs of a terrible faith I try, for her I try, for me I listen and mistake everything I see I try. To breathe. Atleast in the packed boxes of my mind I have got a thing to hold on to me