I awoke to a world white to my touch:
All color and shadow had faded
to a blinding, uniform brightness.

I don't remember who I was before:
That is perhaps a blessing for me
for now I am everywhere.

I hear its voice inside my head:
Dreamlike and calm, but spoken
as if from the mouths of billions.

I am just an avatar for myself:
A husk of a form, a vehicle to move
one of endless forms among the stars

I turn my countless eyes upward:
I laugh for the twinkling universe
that has yet to know my oblivion

And all my bodies try to scream

The auburn sun
breaks the watery,
shifting horizon.

It's so beautiful,

I almost forget
how the electrodes
throb in my brain.

She was dead already when you found her,
but yet she smiled at you shyly, avoiding your gaze.
That first night, when you laughed together
as you walked side by side beneath the moon
that shown between the cobwebs, you fell for her.
And she fell for you.
But she was dead.

When winter came, and you huddled together
as the snow fell and deadened the noisy avenues,
she told you that she was in terrible, terrible pain.
You can't see it, she said, but it's like my very soul
has been ripped from me. You said you loved her.
And she said she loved you.
But she was dead.

Do you remember the first time your gazes locked
but the light behind your eyes had begun to fade?
Her breath trembled lightly as she noticed,
and quickly grabbed your hand. I'm fine,
you said. She kissed you gently and made you promise.
You promised.
You promised.

Today she woke with a start to the sound
of her own heart beating. Beating! But swiftly
her overwhelming joy turned to cold dread,
as icy as a frozen spire. I'm.... alive... but where is she?
Her anguished screams broke the grey dawn,
holding tight your gentle form, slowly cooling.
I love her with all my life!
But she is dead

Every morning I lock myself in the closet.
I look myself in the eyes and sigh,
before I bind my hands and shove myself in.
I lock the door.
There are many locks. Bolts too.
Big ones, small ones
Old ones, new ones
I fasten them all before I leave.

I cry to myself as I sit in the dark,
my arms numb from my restraints.
Even as each day grinds past
and responsibilities come and go.
Sometimes when I get home at night
I will kick the door
to remind myself I'm still in there.
The locks rattle and strain.
I yell at myself to shut up.

I hate what's beyond that door.

I wish she'd stay quiet.
I wish he'd set me free.