Sometimes I wish you would just be real.
That you would be more
Than a phantasmal image of
Everything I want to be.

Sometimes I just want.
Sometimes I just want to pretend that I didn't know,
That you were joking.
I want you to see,
See the person you're acting to be.
The hazy image of a being
That you project into the fog.
Into the fog of your own breath.

I see you.
Sometimes you tell me phrases,
Moments, glimpses of who you are
Behind the mask of a jester's guise.
The joking face that isn't distorted with 
The scars of other's lives,
With scars of the days gone by
But now I suffer, yearning for them
Selfishly.

I know I won't burn away my facade but
Sometimes I wish
That you'd take off your paper mask
Just for me.
The mask that holds the blades
Away from your face.
That you'd feel the danger 
Of a close shave,
So I could hear those phrases.
Those honest phases.
Before you flicker back out.

Ignore it.
                       The pain
         Goes away
                                       After everything

                      Turns black

My eyes begin to close,
And tears begin to fall.
You force my eyes wide open,
Oblivious to stinging tears.
I stare back blankly
And continue to work.

I could just stop, but I keep working,
I could just sleep, but I keep walking.
If only you could understand,
If only you believed.
If only I could cast a spell,
And you could feel my pain.

Sadly I love you,
I could not do that to you.
Even these burdens that I carry,
Are few compared to those of others.
But these shoulders are weak,
These limbs are tired,
They collapse under the weight.

Again, my eyes begin to close,
And tears begin to sting,
I cannot, keep working.
But I must keep walking
Till the break of dawn.
Dawn breaks.

When I am given an assignment
I scoff inwardly.
The professor says
The project is due Thursday.
I know very well that she won't
Actually look at it till a month later.
A month later she'd accept it just the same,
So why put myself through this hell now?

Hell? You question me,
"**** it up and just do it, baby"
It's just some project.
Like all the others, relatively no effort,
It will take all of an hour to complete.
Then, it'd be over and done with.

Wrong.
It's Hell.
I stare into space, dreading the thought
Of lifting my pen to mark a sheet of paper just
Because I have to.
I could sit here for hours and write,
With the same pen, the story of my life,
The poetry that describes my innermost thoughts.

The same pen lifted for the assignment
Of someone else's creation,
Weighs down like the rock
Left behind after the cave's collapse.

The only times I've ever seriously considered,
Giving up.
The only times I've ever considered
Sleeping... Deeply,
Is when I am forced to lift,
One by one,
Each piece of rock, back into that cave's ceiling.

Sometimes when I've half finished,
I think that maybe,
If I shook the walls,
I could let it all cave in on me.
I'd never have to find my way back.

I walk into class,
Lay the sheet to rest
On the desk of it's judge.
Hardly notices my presence,
The granite dust on my eyelashes.

What do I get for my efforts?
Red pen, an "A".
My friends whine and moan,
"You didn't even have to try!"
Because I'm too smart to pay attention in class.
Too smart to actually study.
That I don't have to try.

They don't have to rebuild caves.

Don't make me go home,
Home to a house,
A house in the middle of everywhere.
A middle of everywhere that is itself,
Nowhere.

Dont bring me home.
Dont bring me to the middle of everywhere,
In the center of every place I'd like to be,
Absent from every place I'd like to be.

Don't ******* to a house,
At the intersection of everyplace.
When all I want to be
Is with you.

What if there are no walls?
I quickly stand,
Suddenly not trusting
The solid brick at my back.

What if there was no gravity?
My hopeful thought falls
As my feet stay rooted,
Ingrained into the cold floor.

I stand next to the wall

Staring at its painting
It seems to speak

It's image running parallels
Alongside my thoughts.
With no discernible pattern,  
No reference to any pre-existing material,  
Just color.

The texture is smooth.
The occasional lump sprouts forward,  
Growing from the dent
Where the gasses
Had been trapped beneath the surface.

Held prisoner.
Without concious thought
Of what had happened to it.

I was in the street of a busy city.
One of those cold concrete cities
With loud noises and fast paced people.

Standing alone in the warm smog
Nobody noticed me as they passed by,
Walking to wherever they felt they needed to go.

I may as well have been a lamppost.
Not even that, they would notice a lamppost at night
When they use it to guide their way home,
From what ever they were celebrating that evening.

They don't think they could gain,
Any kind of their quick bursts of joy
Through a conversation with me.

Like junkies they go through life
Looking for the next high,
Hoping that whatever high they're on
Will help them get to the next one.

They can't see me.
I am alone.
Chasing lamposts.

In the sad words of an elegist
I mourn the worlds of color and music
That cannot, do not, and will not exist.

Such worlds that would be but, beyond words.
Where emotion blends into the lights around us,
The shadows only shield us from harm.
Where the night is mysterious,
Glorious in it's beauty.

Haunting and peaceful
Is any and all beauty that flies,
Light, and bursting with stars.

This world of paradox
Would require no explanation
Nor boredom of repeating nonsense.

Everyday, day and night,
Is an overwhelming sense experience.
Your mind leaves you
To your eyes and ears,
Your nose, mouth, and hands.

Feel the color of emotion's vision.
Taste the wonder that is movement's song.
Finally, hear beyond the beholder,
And experience the the heights of sensation.‏

If I stayed any longer,
Who knows?
I might have gone insane too.

He told me his name.
I never asked him why he was there,
Why everyone else avoided him.  

I regret it now
But now is not the time,
There is no time left.  

He said he could get out
Whenever he wanted.
He just had no reason to go.  
He told me if I would come with him,
Stay with him forever, we’d leave.  

Can you imagine that?
He even said he loved me.  
The weirdest part is, I think I loved him to.
I would keep trying to remember
Where this love was taking place,
In this asylum but, I always forgot.

All we had to do was walk out.  
Nobody touched us.  
When we were out, we ran, and ran, and ran.  
In the middle of the forest,
There was no way they could find us,
We still wanted to be safe.

We found a cave in which we could stay,
Until we had enough strength to explore.
There was plenty of apples and firewood around.  
That first night, I just ate, and ate, and ate.  

I noted the big willow tree
and boulder next to the exit.
Natural, and calm.
This was a place of my refuge,
Where I would be happy.

We set out to explore,
The cave must have been close to the surface,
There were cracks in the ceiling that lit our way.
The cave was filled with tunnel after tunnel.  
Sometimes the tunnel would split into five or six
And we would have to choose one.
Giving the false sense of direction
As we wandered, aimless.
  
When I got scared,
He would assure me it would all be fine.
That must have been the worst lie,
Anyone has ever told me.

I finally worked up the courage
To ask him why he was in the asylum.  
He told me he could fool the mind.
Fool it into believing its body was in pain,
He said his looks could ****.

I scoffed.  

He stared at me,
Completely bewildered.  
I clearly thought him insane.  
He let that slide.  

He never kissed me fully, passionately.  
They were always short and sweet.  
He only brushed my face
When he wanted me to calm down,
Making jokes whenever
I was having second thoughts.
  
He was using me.  
I was a shield, nothing more.  
I would have to be disposed of.

Back to staring,
I realized that his back
Is not made of duck feathers.
My scoff doesn't slide.

I ran faster I’d ever run before.
All this flew through my mind
As I scrambled up from the cave floor for the third time.
The exit was just around the corner.
It just had to be.  

As I stumbled back
Onto the cold hard rock
The exit came into view.
I saw the light shimmering on the broken rock.
The shadow of a willow tree.
Ironically I was so happy I could cry.  
I’d hide in the trees
I’d never have to see this murderer again.  
Tripped for the fourth time.

I looked up,
Still sprawled out on the cave floor.  
There was a hole in the ceiling,
Sending shattered shafts of light to where I was lying.  
I watched the dust fall in lazy spirals.

I jumped off the floor.
Back to my peril,  
I heard his sluggish footsteps.
Turned around for one last look.
He stood in those shattered beams of light
Glaring at me.

Now on my feet, I stood
In the dark half of the spacious hall of rock
As if that would help my situation.  
If only I could fade into the shadows.  
I was trapped.
With no escape but the cave's tunnels behind me,
Or the death awaiting me.  

Just a few more steps back.  

He’s eyes snapped to my feet,
"You don’t want to do that.”
Back to my face.
His smile was only evident in his voice.
He was right.  
I didn’t want to die in that moment.  

The room’s light darkened
As if someone had put out the sun.
I knew it was coming.

I loved him.
He may not love me now.
He may never have.
But I don’t care.  
If I never loved him,
I may not be in this situation,
I might not be about to die.  
But I think just maybe,
It was worth it.  

Those smiles,
Stolen kisses and touches,
Just the sound of his voice.
Running in the middle of the forest
Away from the asylum.
It was all worth the pain I was about to feel.  

We stood staring at each other,
Waiting for the other to make the first move.  
The tension mounted.
Hatred started coming off him in waves,  
Hitting me over and over
Threatening to pull me under.  
I could feel his anger.

The air seemed to thicken,
Weighing down on me,
Forcing from me my last breath.
Draining me of what little strength
I had left to remain standing.

I began to gasp for air,
Unable to feel my lungs expand.
Feel the relief of oxygen in my blood.  
My eyes were locked in his
Begging to turn away,
To save my life.  

I was mesmerized.
Like prey waiting for the snake to strike  
I watched helplessly as his face,
Distorted with anger, began to twitch.  

I could see the words that would end this,
Begin to form on his lips.
Waiting to be released.
***** off his spit stained *****.  
After the agony of anticipation seemed to reach its peak.  
They dropped like acid into the open air.

I lost the fight against the pressure.
Finally crumbling under the strain,
I rested on my knees.
Holding my head in my hands
Preparing to resist the attack.

It hit me full force
Like a subway train at full speed.
I did all I could not to cry out,
To give in to this miserable existence,
To give him the satisfaction of my death.  

I broke out in a cold sweat
As my muscles continued to fight,
Melting with the strain.  
Adrenaline pumped through my veins
As the true attack began.  

The pain started at the tips of my fingers and toes.  
Slowly crawling, burning,
It continued to eat away at my flesh.  

Much to my dismay
I remained intact
But paralyzed by the pain
Unable to run away,
To escape it.

I was unaware of the storm of tears
Falling from my cheeks.  
Oblivious that he continued to circle closer,
Waiting for his moment to strike.  

The pain began to worsen,
Shifting from fire to lava,
Lava to lightning.  
It was unimaginable, indescribable.

Then I lost control.
This body– it was no longer mine.
It began to betray me.  
It shuddered, then shook spasmodically.  

Its back arched knowing what was to come next,
Preparing as the bubble of air was pushed slowly
Up its tongue, against its lips.
Its blood curdling,
Gut wrenching shriek
Lasted mere hundredths of a second.

He comes into view for a brief moment.
My eyes roll back into my head,
And I lose myself in the blackness.  

I want to be a character in a story.
Not the main character, as I don't want to be notable,
or even be given written actions or words.

To be someone part of the scenery,
In the background,
Who may as well, not exist at all.

I want to exist from day to month,
From hour to minute.
Only, without knowing what that means.

Without knowing what it means
To exist from a time to a time.
I want to experience only the good and only the bad.
There would be no gray area.

My story would not contain
"He woke up, walked three steps to the door, and made a sandwich."
Only, "he fell in love.
he avoided being run over by mere inches,
he, on the beach, bathed in the smooth rays of the sun on a hot glorious summer day."
There would be no boring, pointless, gray area.

These words would be written by the hand of another
Existing only in the imagination of the reader.
I would not even be in the words,
But only the imagery in the mind.

This is my wish, all my hopes and dreams.
To exist in fiction and remain unseen.

What is freedom?
What is sentience,
But the awareness of how to be unhappy.