I've been locked in a prison.
My chains double binding,
clinching on skin follicles.  
I speak to the emptiness
My echo won't reply,
afraid of the beasts unseen.
I look toward the stars
this 7x7 just got a bit bigger.
I see the winter halo,
The angels surround the moon.
maybe,
they could surround my heart.

And when we devour our fantasies,
love interests of reality will turn to misery:
nothing lovely will exists again,
nor any news worthy items upon CNN.

And we detach ourselves from all conversation,
listen to no new information:
brains will meld into unfathomable canyons
with sulphur red walls, fossils for companions.

But with elbows akin to mine,
(wrinkled and creased sheathes of skin)
our dance will be passionate and fine,
one more smile, another grin.

it's not the way you'd kiss me oh-so nervously for the first time, or
how your hand would secretly find mine, during a lazy day movie;
it wouldn't be the way you'd say my name with a lisp on the "S",
or hearing that laugh of yours or looking at your strikingly-blue eyes
that I'm falling in love with

but it's the thought of someone coming along
and giving me the time of day, and tensing my nerves
or my heart flutter  
or my head spin
the idea that I would feel something again
is what I'm falling for the most.

Why can't it be a time for me to be what ever I want to be?
I want to be a rapper, a hip hop snapper, a rhythm tapper.

Why can't we rhyme all the time for a nickel or a dime, it would be sublime?
I'd rhyme love and hate, end to ****, clothes to cape, and fat free to cake.