this world, I do not know.

whenever I encounter her,
she pulls away from my painful grip.

I strangle her, and squeeze her dry,
refusing to let her be as she is.
I murmur words, and skew her trees,
governing her every little movement.

whenever I leave her,
she suffers the liberal illusion of free will.

I sit in a chair, in an enclosed room, staring outside behind a window.
I am rocking the chair.
I decide to look at the room more carefully.
She screams at me.


So, this world, I am a sojourner.

henceforth, I leave the room,
the cruelty of a hot and cold desert awaits me.

She strangles me, and veils me completely,
entrapping me with her openness.
She speaks glibberish, and builds castles,
poisoning the inmeasurable consciousness.

henceforth, I leave the room,
the desert forces me into a double confrontation.

The chair sits on me, at an open space, facing the distant horizon.
The chair is rocking me.
I cannot decide to take down the chair.
She pities me.

I stare at the world and I sing,

"What a wonderful world..."

the closer i get, the further it becomes.