Enter The Poetic Machine

Title: Enter The Poetic Machine

By: Joshua Casimier

Date: April 22, 2012

I am..... Who I am.... Who am I?

A mystery?

A forgotten piece of the future that has no remembrance of anything by anyone within the present thinking back on history?

A guy who gets angry at the wrong time. Who wants to curse his enemies and burn down the ugly into something beautiful, but can't because he has no idea on where and how to place and call on his sensitivity.

Poetry loving...

Hearing the cries of others..

Trying to escape the past is he.. Am I?

Am I... Who I am.. When I sleep at night in a dream when dreams are my pillow and the cover on my skin is the lies that I have been told by others feeling what goes on in their lives..

Rather it all be truth..

Rather it be silly..

I have no thoughts of where I will end up I just hope that it is a good place..

Feeling so good one second..

Confused the next..

Ran by my demons where I pray to have someone to help me fight these.

Trying to save everyone except himself the main trait of me you know a Pisces.

As I come home I watch the television for a piece of my mind that I can never seem to mine.

As I watch empty promises being promised by politicians and people who think they can fix it all just to past time.

When there is a war going on overseas that brings me to my knees..

Where I look at my hands to find a pencil to talk to a piece of paper I ask who am I? What do I truly need?

I thrive on one day being able to fully succeed; yet my wrist often change colors they bleed..

I watch this world as I feel it watches me...

Where I feel I am behind its light years ahead..

Gas prices and murder goes up as oil has never been chalked down.

My face often turns red and I get this sudden pain in my chest as I just lay on the ground and close my eyes and look at that book that I wish I had read.

As my other side that knows completely better tells me and asks me are you dead?

I remember when I was small the only thing that I knew about me was that I carried a notebook and a pencil in my ear.

To write down my every thought and fear.

Now I can barely do any of that cause I often wonder is there something different that shows up on my body when I walk away from the mirror.

If I can say who I am

If I can say what makes me...me..

I could not fully answer because events always seem to take place when you think you are settled its always going to be something that comes your way at no cost its free.

So I guess I will keep writing and letting the things that effect me fuel me.

The things that hurt me somehow help me, so for now I will just be this walking human being that everyone is seeing.

That is a machine of words on the inside and like everyone else remain a mystery to myself and just like them wonder what they are seeing.