the book is hidden away
its pages unturned
my eyes looking elsewhere,
ah,
this is bittersweet

I should
I should
I should

but,

I probably won’t,
like always

you know that
so why even ask?

I walk in with a smile
but always leave with a frown
because it always comes back to:
what I haven’t done
what I’m not doing
what I should be spending my time on

and it does is make me more
depressed

so Great Expectations
is waiting for
me

waiting to jump
and crush me
under it’s 500 pages
of ****

Texts and Posts and Blogs galore
I must read, reply, comment, or ignore

Symbols, Emoticons, Internet Slang, l33t
What I read and write I can't even speak

What Hero, What Color, What God, What Sign
Profiles, Quizzes, Lists, Fan of and Pages are how I'm defined.

500 friends, 100 requests, an invite and dozens of tweets
Day in and day out come and go on my phone and PC

Yet at the end of the day when the screens go dim
I sleep alone never having acutally touched or spoken to any of them.

You scare me silly.
I'm 3 million years old, but you don't care.
I'm five to you.
A little girl.
Who's inevitably and perpetually,
Silly.

Gaiety.
What a good way to hide my pain.

If each one is unique,
      Then why
      Are they catagorized?
      Unique.
      Just like everyone else.

I am being Followed
I swear

by those creatures
in the corner of your eye

I am being Followed
I know

by little monsters
and larger beasts

humanoid things
and many legged creatures

disappearing
when looked at directly

I am being stalked
of course

by my overactive imagination
and shadows

at least I hope so.

And you screamed at me
one-thousand times
you were a lost cause.
I tore for victory
only to find the concrete
causes lost
with wings renewed tar free.