Borrowed words: all to describe
Stolen moments, rented time.
Diction that I now transcribe.
A story that's not wholly mine.

In my bed I sleep; I dream.
Surrounded by walls that seem
Adequate to serve my needs.
But these walls weren't built for me.

The walls have ears--the ceiling, eyes.
Speak through our tongues--our own demise.
Nowhere is there now to hide,
For I (and you) am a loyal spy.

Woven into fabric rendered
To fulfill some view of splendor.
But no one here can remember
Why we stitch torn cloth together.

Too short, too tall, too weak to handle;
Must reinforce to insure it's ample.
But how can I shatter what is fragile
If I am what I wish to dismantle?

There's a story on my lips--
Unwarranted, can't let it slip.
On my pen I'll cling, I'll grip;
Bleed my heart through fingertips.

Ink stained page, a wounded soul;
Fine point to slay my self control.
Carnage I could never show
To those I have come to know.

This is a side meant only for
Fellow soldiers out at war.
Faceless under armor worn--
But words we jab revealing more.

You stand in the darkness of the shadow cast
By the bright light of the future as it collides with the past.
You can't peek around to determine the source--
And here in the present they define your course.

I never did fit very well;
Don't ask me why, it's hard to tell.
Actually, that was a lie.
I could explain the reasons why...
But the story's very long
And I tend to go on and on,
Over explaining everything,
The cause and effect each aspect brings.
And so long will my tale get
That you'd probably miss the point of it.
But at the end of the day, all said and done
I wasn't liked by anyone.
Okay, I have a tendency
To speak in hyperboles:
Perhaps a few didn't mind
My presence from time to time.
But overall, in the grand scheme,
I wasn't a favorite amongst the team.
A little strange. A little odd.
Introversion my great flaw.
Or at least I believed
That the problem laid in me.
But only now that I have gone
Have I thought that, maybe, everyone was wrong.

This poem is short; Not much to say.
Yet still the need to say something anyway.

Lost in the fictions I didn't write myself;
Stuck in the stories up on the shelf.
Exploring the spaces between the lines,
The images swirling inside my mind.
And it's an addiction, the emotions compelled:
I'm wrapped up, consumed by their endless spell.
Please never rescue me from my delusions,
And may these tales never reach their conclusions.
If the fantasy realms and other dimensions
Cease to be, I would disappear with them.
For I am a composite of fandom and myth,
Without which, I'm sure, I couldn't exist.
So leave me to drown here in legends and fables,
The sagas and series-- all lands with no equals.
The characters conjured: imaginative haunts--
But the feelings they give are the best that I've got.
Don't save this damsel for I'm not distressed;
Just leave me to wander through some fictional quest.
If I cannot fit in the world that's created
Then leave me to die here between the pages.

Scratching scribbles across the page:
Meaningless if rearranged.

Meaningless scribbles scratched,
Until meaning we attach.

Scribbled meaning scratched in stone;
Whatever it means, culture will erode.