I'm not completely sane
but then neither are you.

Unicorns don't exist.
Because sometimes just the idea is enough.

There is man in the first floor of the building,
we lend him our eyes because he'd got no use for our ears.
He tells life with vivid motions, stories through fingers and expressions;
he's got a joy for life and it's apparent from his actions.
He puts me to shame as I try to convey life with all this intricate words;
I say meretricious, he waves his hand away
I say despondent, he shakes his head in dismay
I say exuberance, but all he has to do is smile.

There's a savant in the first floor of the building.
He's merry and jolly,
reminding everyone with a gentle smile that
sometimes words are not enough, reminding us that
although the pen is mightier than the sword
actions speak louder than words.

Sometimes people
                                   don't know how to take,
                                                                ­           the works of art that I create.
            
I don't understand
                                  how knowing who I am
                                                                ­           causes the problems at hand.

They think that I am
                                    living in a dream,
                                                              bu­t  there's truth behind what I say,

AND how they make me seem.
                                    I can still say to the whole world
                                                           ­       I know the meaning of C.R.E.A.M.

But cash rules nothing in my world,
                                     I care less for the dollars
                                                                ­   And all about the DREAM

But I wouldn't mind the paper
                                and I am flattered by the follows
                                                       Because not even evil is all that it seems.

Beauty is pain.
It draws them in like flies.
They have caught their legs
in my flypaper hair.
And rip them off, one by one.
They fall like eyelashes into my palm.
They love, they love.
I cannot.