A feeling of wasted, yet genius,

Your wisdom overflows, but spills.

And when I try to write myself,

My mind is visiting over his foes,

And my heart flies to over space,

While my soul charges my body,

Making insane attempts,

To make me fly over my level.

But where is the union?

Between my wants, needs, and feelings,

I feel connected, but lost,

Hear answers, and questions,

See goals and successes.

But to be honest,

The imperfect perfect minds, like min,

Need a drug called, challenge,

To be in peace.

Well, I will then mix that element,

With my tea and bread,

Yet instead of sustaining me,

It chokes me, forcing me to breathe,

Reminding me, the only thing stopping me,

Is myself believing that, I am stuck.

So I swallowed what I agreed.