but sometimes i think but can’t feel
and sometimes i look and don’t understand
some things are dying to be written about
human’s ignorance or the ignorance of man,
leaves them unwritten(not unforgotten)
i shall not write about those i care too much of
because i realized it is after i flood my paper with ink;
after the trees are tortured with the screeching sound of metal chainsaws
after my ink is diluted with a colour i like to taste
that we become strangers.
like the objects are strangers to us.