Standing, soaked, out in a storm, gusts of wind whipping my hair around wildly
Unruly strands sway with the song of chaos, pulling at my scalp, snapping, lashing at my face
My existence is all reality as this whirlwind tempest frantically thrashes about my flesh
In the complex puzzles and foolish games, a simple madness lives, and therein lies my freedom

My tongue and lips sometimes flap boisterously from their spot on my face
And the noises risen up from my throat, and passed through my mouth are meaningless blubberings
Involuntarily, I grin, tasting the nonsense's unique sweetness, and I swallow
My laughter rings out, a vociferous and untameable sound; humor, the voice of a crazy woman

And I spin! Oh, I spin and spin and spin, savagely, in ellipses, ovals, and circle shapes
I've no shame, and this dance is all mine, so I maniacally fling my arms through the air
And as my body makes its revolutions, a fierce smile curves the shape of my lips, wrinkles the corners of my eyes
Inside my mind, wandering - wondering if there's any real difference between elated insanity and that which I crave...

Most people use words such as eccentric, strange, whimsical, and peculiar for what they cannot understand
So very often I hear these such words being used from those who speak of me
But it is them whom I perceive as being rather off, so habitual and boring, living like routine enslaved, joyless zombies
So unfathomable to me, why most everyone seems to desire nothing beyond a passionless, hollow schedule to, every day, just repeat

Me... I'll race barefoot down a gravel path, through lightning, thunder, and rain, only to feel my hair being twisted and tangled up in the wind
I'll jabber absurdities, laugh like a loon, all while I spin contentedly around and around, until, stupidly dizzy, I crash and fall
Madness pays little mind, stands without worries or concerns, because it believes - it knows, most nothing matters
This is my freedom, freedom that cannot be shared, for what it is, is something that's only freeing for me...

               ~A. D. Smithson   MARCH 2013

Who is this? This melancholy, lusterless, sad-eyed girl?
Sitting there, in an anguished silence, only hollowly responsive
Perplexed and dismayed by the qualms this life has rapidly unfurled
A heartbroken, lonely ghost of a woman, stripped of all treasures she wished to give
 
Who is to blame? Who forced her to board that otherwise lifeless train?
When it reaches its final stop (the end of the line...) fault shall be hung on what sorry name?
As this girl steps out on to the platform, destination-less, cold and soggy in the rain
To whom might she raise her finger, pointing out the wretched being who first began this ****** game?
 
What if an ugly truth, her answer, is a monster, too hideous to stand and face?
Might she recognize the feet that carried her, each of the steps past, leading to present grounds?
Or perhaps she'll cling to denials, fearing her sins too heavy to be lifted through grace
And regardless, what of hopes, acceptance and loves still hiding? For this girl, could they yet be found?
 
I watch while she sits, waiting vainly for some resolution; her guiding light to come take her away
Of my presence she seems unaware, and I've seen her eyes fill up behind a quiet blink, then spill
In those moments, I cry as well, and beg of God to take the chains from her soul, let her lovely spirit again play
Left to hold her own reigns of mercy and faith, her hands will create the misery-rope she'll eventually be hanged with and killed...
 
We are the same, but divided ourselves; split into two fractured pieces of one broken whole
I've held on, held out for her, yet she's all but forgotten me
And I'll never let go, because that tormented, splintered heart inside of her is a piece of me that she stole
So I'll pray, plead, console, call out to her, for without her acknowledgement of herself, we'll never be one again; we will never be free

It offends half my village
when I say I'm an atheist
but I worship no one.

No one boy,
no one God. Not my parents,
not love

not anything.
And if you don't sin
then didn't Jesus die for nothing?

Or is that blasphemy?
To be perfectly
honest, if it's P.C.

or not
P.C.
It never mattered

to me.

I need to leave and not tell anyone where I'm going.
I've booked a plane ticket and plan to go
in two weeks time.

I need to get away from here and the gentleman
who's breaking my heart to pieces.
See if he notices.

I'm turning my phone off for a week or two.
Absence makes the heart grow fonder
and coming back makes them realise

just how much they've always needed you.
I just need to see if they'll be waiting
at arrivals in three weeks or so.

And if they're not, I'll move. For good.

Cast your soulless stares upon the living dead. Your empty actions based on mindless beliefs are so much more politically correct than the ones driven by a bitter solid truth. Your mind numbing drugs are better than ours because you're spoon fed from a prescription platter... Your walk of life is one to strive for? Funny, because we know what it means when euphoria embodies our soul. You're shackled by your monetary hierarchy, flashing trinkets to salute your worth. We understand how worthless we really all are, and laugh in the face of your naivety.
The blind won't teach the deaf to hear.
Our lesson's still misunderstood.
Your hollow visions fall on sewn shut ears.
We're only living the life you wish you could.
Your every effort is to live forever, and you never quite know why. You fear your own mortality, but we've boldly battled for every breath - and never missed a step. Your optimism is your pitiful crutch that snaps with each new day. Our letdowns now are few and far between, because we bask in realistic delusions. You run your home like a castle from your throne, better than all those below you. Yet, when the structure crumbles, it's funny how you're just like us. We see how worthless we really all are, and laugh in the face of the blind.