It's easy to carry on with invisible strings but harder to dream with clarity.
It's easy to sow up a seam then sending your worries down the stream.
It's easy to crumple a compliment and quit living passively.
It's easy to have doubts with little trust, it's easy to say

"I love you the most!" and think that's enough.
It's easy to write a poem as I choke.
So we arrange our shoulders to carrry the strain we have endlessly.
We plant a seed and hope for a healthy green. We get a cut to let it bleed.
We meet strangers on streets and offer them help when they are in need. but us?
We ride on the bumpy side of the bus and let our problems hinder us.  Misinteruptratations become destruction. We lie and soon it becomes an infection.
It bites and we become bones that are titled as
"Alone"