Empty pages
no thoughts to write;
in this interconnected life
so disconnected i feel;
out in the bush
there are one hundred identities;
all from one
or all from none;

Identity is the clothes
or the scent in the shithouse;
they change it from jasmine;
they change it to lavender;
they change it to hide
the disgusting smell of the shit;

I stand and wonder
stare and admire
the nature at its real
the nature so perplexed
it is the nature
the nature of you and me
it is this nature
i want to connect with
if my nature in real
is a shit that very stinks
it is this nature
that i want to connect with

nakedness is so pure
An attitude that is so clear
it is closer to the ME
the ME that we are in search
this ME is the happiness
this attitude shall only stage
and any disguise
jasmine or lavender
doesnt smell so good
to the smell of me

So i am naked
with my own identity
and here i see
written pages empty
in this interconnected world
so disconnected i feel