Tuesday, March 16, 2010


What I say isn't always what I mean,
And though I try, what I mean isn't what I feel
But what I feel is never what it seems
Because what it seems is never real.

Without stepping once, I can stumble,
Falling down, cut myself on frozen air.
Without speaking sounds, I can mumble,
Talking aloud, though nobody is there.

The words I love to write don't make sense.
Still graphite shapes letters with curves of a girl.
They hold my memories of a forgotten tense.
And in their valleys, my story can unfurl.

Maybe I'm crazy, but maybe I'm sane,
Trapped in a world where freedom is my cage.
Bodies bursting coloros in the gray mush of brain,
All calm and collected as we white out the page.

Sometimes I smile when somebody dies.
True, it may be wrong but tears make me giggle
Because my soul is the Lord of the Flies
And because in the ground, only worms still wiggle.

Mondays, Tuesdays, and Thursdays, please lock me away.
Slam the door of a padded room and lose the skeleton key.
I'm going down so you don't need to be walking my way
'Cause those days are when I'm best and you'd fall in love with me.

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