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I once stopped a Sparrow while I was up in the clouds.
I asked him for a flying lesson, because I was stuck
in the fluffy white vapors.
Steve the Sparrow is a fantastic teacher.
I fly around all the time,
but I also still climb up the clouds
like I used to.

Bad habits die hard.
Some don't die at all.
when you're at the airport
you may see those flat escalators,
the ones that move,
they're just sitting in the middle
of the airport,
waiting to be stood on,
waiting to move you?
you know those?

You walk on,
you may stand or
you might walk.
You could run.

I run.
I run down the path,
watching the luggage trail
their people along,
zipping by.
I see bright signs,
rushing across my
brain in streaks of
blue,
red,
green.

And all too soon,
the path ends and
I'm ****** back onto solid
ground,
back to reality,
back to
simply
walking.
Sometimes my mind gets really chattery and I just can't focus on anything.
I try to talk to people, I try to explain my thoughts, but it comes out as
ASDKFJAL;SJK!
No one seems to understand, they give me strange looks.
100000 blaring screens in my brain, screaming at me, begging for attention.
I'm only one person with two eyes and one brain, two legs and two rings on every finger!
ASDKFJAL;SJK!
Most of the time, I really just can't find the words.
Look at all these words I have, on my shelves, under the sink, on my bed.
I have them stacked in boxes, some are dusty,
Some are worn oooouut.
And even though I have all these words,
I can't find the right one.
I have this one right here, and OH, this one! This one's a good one.
But...
I need one to go in the middle,
Have you seen it? I can't... find it...
ASDKFJAL;SJK!
I have a lot of jars, too.
Big, small, tall, hahaha
The jars are all dusty.
A thin film of colorful light
lines the inside of each jar.
I don't know what they're for,
I can't open them.
Well, there was this one jar I opened
By accident. I dropped it.
It broke into precisely 800 little squares
and this grey, golden light filled the
Room.
It just swallowed up everything everywhere
and left nothing but everything
ASDKFJAL;SJK!
ashes to ashes
dust to dust
from earth to sky
from love to lust
carry me out to a rainy sea
hide your tears and
set me free
you'll grow old and
I will rust
ashes to ashes
dust to dust
As far as I know, we only really live once.
Even if we live more lives, this one,
RIGHT NOW!
Is the one you're living.
So, by all means,
dye your hair blue.
You should pick up that violin
and play the crap out of it.
Hell, get a tattoo.
But if that's not you,
don't go there.
Buy a sweater and
cut it up, and
wear that fancy number
to the supermarket.
Pick up that paintbrush
and paint me a mural.
Paint yourself a mural, ******!
But if that's just not you,
don't go there.
But please, please,
pUUUHleaaaseeeee remember
that YOU are not a
stereotype!
You don't fit into a
category!
You are you AND
FOR CRYING OUT LOUD
DON'T LOSE YOURSELF.
It is difficult to not get caught
in the stream.
Swimming upstream...
It's risky.
It's hard.
But if you stand out,
you won't be blending in.
If you're not blending in,
then you're clearly not the
same color.
Who want's to be beige
when you could be aqua?
But if that's not you...
Be beige!
BE BEIGE IN A SEA OF
PINK AND PURPLE
AND RED AND
GREEN AND BLUE!
Is this cliche? I don't know. I'm feelin' the mood, guys!
"Be yourself, because everyone else is taken."
       -Oscar Wilde, ma main man, homedog skillet
Red skies and lingering screams almost seem to fade
Almost
Smoke and steam drift lazily out from between cracks in the
Crumbled buildings
A mirror lies at my feet
It's cracked where my eyes should be
And completely shattered into
A trillion tiny shards
At my heart
My heart, which has now
Turned to dust in my
Black cavernous chest
Still seems to explode
At the sight of
The writing in the concrete
I once wrote those words
And so did you
But you're gone now
Faded with the rest
Into the ****** sky
Inspired by Isabelle Kessler's "Tie-died Mind Day Dreams." Isabelle is my best friend and I don't know what I would do without her.  
http://hellopoetry.com/poem/tie-died-mind-day-dreams/?l=profile-activity:573612
i guess some things really do
just slip through your mind
like sand through fingers
just flowing away

i suppose that some people
just dont know how
to let go of these things

i think that some people
try get rid of the thoughts
on purpose

sometimes it feels better
to feel nothing and calms
your feverish mind
to forget

push the thoughts out
like the tide
tie an anchor to your ankle
and just let it all
slip away
big
big
I want to explode like a supernova.
okay, supernovas implode.
I want to burst forth with strength
and heat.
I want to create ripples of fire
across the face of the earth,
blowing the cold winds back around
to the other side of the universe.
I want to burn up everything,
make the world come alive in crackling
pops, like fireworks.
I want to be a firework!
I want to explode like a firework display
across static velvet skies--
I want to be big.
I want people to turn around and stare,
because I want to be a big deal.
I want my thoughts to rush from my ears
and eyes and consume reality with colour
and odd shapes.
I want to be big, like a supernova.
I'm not a fan of sailing Optis.
But right now, we're just sitting under a grey sky
with no wind to blow life into
the sagging sails.
I glance across the boat, right into the
accusing eyes of Myself.
She has her arms crossed and so do I.
We're the same person, thinking the same thoughts.
I stare into my green grey hazel eyes,
which are cold and hard like concrete before snowfall.

"What?" she asks, her sharp words like knives, piercing me.
I look down and say,
"You know what."
"Yeah, I ******* know." I look up again, to see her eyes flash pale green grey, the color
of the water we rest on.
"What's your problem?" I yell at her. It's not really a question. My nose tingles, as it always
does when I get upset. I see her tug at her nose, too.
She answers quietly. "You're my problem."
"How can I be your problem when I'm you and you're me? We're obviously stuck, Gen."
She lowers her eyes, and pulls at her eyebrow. I do the same.
We're creatures of habit, she and I, I and she.
Me, myself and I.
I, myself and me.
She shakes her head. "I don't know what to do."
"Neither do I. Obviously."
Then suddenly, we look up at each other, a new light peeking behind our irises and dripping onto our cheekbones.
We both stand up, the boat still completely motionless.
"You know we can't swim," I mutter, looking into the murk.
"Doesn't matter."
She looks at me, and I at her. Something in her eyes tells me that it'll be okay.
Maybe.
Walls and gates kept her away
from what she needed
but didn't want
Beds of white cotton
submerged in what she
thought she didn't feel
Dusty pens in a dusty cup
on a dusty desk
She hammered at armor
that she had been hammering at
for years
since she was a young child
binding the pieces but
secretly
looking for cracks
to break out of
Kicking *** and taking names
but throwing the names away
Ripping keys out of the
typewriter

Every fifth letter
scratched into porcelain skin
Soap stripping her of what
made her normal
But there is no normal
She was still abnormal
Trying to open herself
to let the oxygen-free blood
stain her outline
so she could be seen
for a moment
Just one moment
and then get erased by
everyone
else
like always
She wanted to fly and shine
but there were others already
shining
and flying
Sun flashing and illuminating her
skeleton
Her skin transparent while lit
by the sun

Her heartbeat
skipped
and
stopped
and faltered
She tried to lose herself in everything she could
You could say she was selfish
but
you could say she just wanted to
be found, though,
by the right person
There is no right person
because anyone can break a shell
but nobody cares enough
to see what kind
of radiance
will light up the
universe
Nobody cares
that with every
single word
she is thrown
through windshields
Shards of glass
scathing her
inside
and
out

Drowning in pristine lakes
of beautiful love and
joy
How painful to not be able
to inhale
while drowning in
pristine lakes of lovely happiness
She could feel the
currents rushing past her fingers
but couldnt hold on
But she wanted to
She wanted to
hold
on
The title doesn't go with the poem, but I'm not too concerned about it.
hit hit hit
clap
slam
clap

you're gonna miss me
when i'm gone
top
bottom top
you're gonna miss me
by my hair
slam clap
you're gonna miss me
everywhere
clap

i know you're gonna miss me
when i'm gone
hit hit
Oh, of what can be silently hidden
by a beautifully crafted string of universally
understood meanings.
A word is like a thousand photos
1,000 snapshots to represent a single word
Because words are so much more than a
Collection of letters
In each word is an accumulation of
Emotions, feelings, smells and memories
Ever shifting by what lies ahead and
Behind
Because a word is more than a word
It's a feeling, an emotion, a smell
Oh, of what can be silently hidden
By a beautifully crafted string of
Universally understood
Meanings.
This won't last long.
I need to get it down
before it stumbles again.
I need to hold on,
before it slips through
my hot palms,
into the well i've
built inside myself.
I can't let it slide down
that slippery well,
because it might be
the last time I hold it
in my heart, let it
dance through my blood
and glow through
my dead, disconnected
eyes.
I will hold it tight this time,
because who knows?
Will it be the last?
Will I be able to fight
once I know the rope has broken
and the bucket has sprung
a leak?
It might be the last time
before the weather weakened
wires wither into nothing
under my very skin.
So right now,
I need to get it down.
Right now,
I'm happy.
i'm slipping, i think...
"So, you just keep bleeding?"
"Yep."
"And you just don't stop?"
"Nope."
"Well, I sure am sorry about that."
"Betch'you are."
"Really. I am. But I have to go."

And with that, she left me
The water running
Getting colder and colder until
A glacial layer of cold breath
And a thick film of icy memories
Enveloped me
And washed down the drain
Along with the inky
Red of my open veins
there was a vase.
it was nothing special.
not very pretty
to look at.
it sat on a shelf
in a window.
it was behind
another vase, though.
the vase in front was
dustless and beautiful.
the vase in front had
flowers in it.

the ugly vase
sat for years
behind the lovely
vase.
the lovely vase had
everything and more.
elegant curves,
tasteful colors.
it was so beautiful
no one looked at
the curveless,
off white vase
behind it.

one day a child
ran through the
store.
the table by the window
was bumped
and the ugly vase
fell.
it shattered into
needle thin shards
and eventually swept
away.
the lovely vase
was bought that
day.
life is hard. people don't usually fill ugly vases with confetti so that when they shatter they'll also explode into a second long memory of "remember that ugly vase that was actually more exciting than the beautiful one?"
Jane-
It was cold. The sun tried to shine through the endless layers of foamy, winter clouds. It was grey. Snow had settled, frozen. Drip, drip, dripped... and refrozen. Lumps of blackened ice lined the skeletal streets of the city, asleep. Hibernating. It was dark, quiet and dead. The icy, dry winds blew through the empty stomach of the town, drying out the bricks on the buildings, cracking the trees into bits, smaller and smaller. Your breath created a thick white cloud in the air above you, but thinned and disappeared, just like everything else.

Jon-
She blended in with the bleached building. White skin, white hair, ivory coat. Her eyes stood out like a sapling in the winter though, pushing through the frozen surface, green and hopeful. She was almost nothing special, if you didn't look twice. But on the second look, she was like pink and blue and yellow. A neon sign. Special. She brought a light to the slumbering city, a light that I held in my careful hands, because she lit up for me, and me only. A glow-in-the-dark star, only seen at night, when there's nobody there to see. I held her carefully because lights can go out if you're not.
I clicked the button one more time, capturing her. Her eyes and the gentle light they held. Flickering.
         "Stop, that's enough,"
But she said it with a smile.

Jane-
I hate the winter, but I love it, too. I feel like I belong. I belong in the cold, white winter where there is nothing to see and nothing to feel.
That's also why I hate it.
the memories you find
at the very bottom of
your brain
from when you were
just a little seed of a
person
it's like looking at the world
through a kaleidoscope
colors
shapes
they almost seem to fit
together in a
puzzle like way
but mostly it's strange
to see that you've
changed so much
it's even stranger to
find that you
haven't changed
at all
Oh, okay.
I see how it is.
You're just going to
walk into my house,
tear down a wall,
carve out a door and
call it your own.
Right.
That's how it's
gonna be.
Fine.
But don't expect
a lion to be docile
when you rip
it's cave apart.
Don't expect i'll
take this lying down.
I'll take this standing up,
thank you VERY much.
I'd take it flying
if I could.
You'll be hearing from me
soon enough.
You owe me a door.
Today began with
                                   frosty dewdrops that
                   clung to my feathers.
               I was damp and cold,
               But the sun was beginning  
                       to peek through the morning
                                         mist.
                      I let out a trill, my morning song.

           Everything in my nest smelled
                                             of rain.
         The leaves and sticks, the
               seeds and feathers.
                      I hopped about for a moment,
                  fluttering my wings,
                        warming them.
             Then, with one last jump,
             I let myself fall,
               but only to let myself fly.

                  I had flown before.  
                       I fly everyday.  
                    But everyday it still feels  
             special and new.
                            Over hills and valleys,
                dipping and diving,
                              I sang.
                                        Warm breezes ruffled the down          
                                              on my tummy,
         and thermals over the ocean
                                   lifted me higher,
                            higher, higher.
                      I felt like the most colorful bird
                                                   on the planet.  
                             Wings with 20+1 colors.
she told me earlier
that she doesn't know what
she wants to be when
she grows up
That makes two of us
little bee

She said she wants a shop though
where she would run the cash
register
dad would make the toys
and I would help people
My eyes smile into hers

Shes small for her age
She'll grow.
Oh dear little bee
You're just so sweet
and innocent

take your time little bee
and create imaginary shops
where you run the cash register

you think i make glow-in-the-dark
constellations on our walls
for fun but i don't
I don't do it for fun
little bee

take your time
I grapple with my insides.
I'm pretty sure my brain is turning inside out.
I lean over the bathroom sink,
Breathing with my eyes closed.
Her legs like splinters,
All those memories flash behind my eyes.
She's seeping into me.
She is.
She is filling all those cracks with HERSELF
And pushing
Pushing my thoughts out
Herself in

And all of a sudden,
I fold.
Laying on the cold tile,
I feel it.
My skin flashes green,
To matching my eyes.
Black spikes erupt from my spine,
Down my arms and
My nails turn black.
Fangs sprout from my green
Gums.
I scream,
No longer myself.

I am the green monster.
I am jealous.
forget me not snot
shot through the top of a
hot box,
popping the rotting thoughts
up town and then down to drown
in the down town
clown-around facade parade
made to order for the
penniless quartered,
fast pace like a rocket ship
drag race,
dragging and driving,
on mars for cliff diving
writhing in the conniving
need for superior timing,
space, time and rhyming
shattering mirrors,
pushing lightyears into the ears
of the universe beast,
waiting for his feast of
treats and honeyed beef,
give the monster what he
wants or he'll take both you and me
forever deceased in the
crease of the time box
space case and
rhyme...
I just realized that "facade" is not pronounced "fa-cade" as I thought it was, but it works in this poem, so can you just read it like that for this poem?
Heaps of ashes that used to resemble a house dance in the wind,
Up and down, side to side and tumbling through the air like a
circus acrobat in a grey costume.
If I squint, they could be butterflies.

Neglected dust huddles quietly in the corners that are never reached by the broom.
Pots and pans lined in greasy film and crusted tomato sauce
fill the sink like waterlogged sandcastles on a humid beach.
If you look away quickly, you could pretend it was an art project.

Boxes stacked on boxes line the hallways, washed in buttery morning light.
Up and down the staircases, through the hallways, bumping into one another,
hearts fluttering like hummingbirds, we ran.
If you thought hard enough, you can remember how happy we were
that first day
in our very new house.
I was on a quest to find something.
through my imagination,
i flew and found stuff
but it was just stuff
i needed
something

WHERE IS IT?

I sunk down under the water
the icy porcelain as cold as my skin
the curve of the tub
matching the ***** of my ugly spine
i gripped the slick bottom
my eyes shut tight and my fingers blue

WHY ISN'T IT HERE?

The sun was setting as i ran through the orchard
over mottled roots and under twisted grey branches
these trees dont bear fruit anymore
i kept running as the sun set
i think i was chasing the sun
because the sun is still while i plummet on little planet earth

...IS IT HERE?

Thick layers of dust and antique sunlight have settled on droopy boxes
i sit on the floor
directly in the middle of the motionless attic
the attic is silent and always smells like books
but no matter how quiet the attic is and how many times i've looked through the boxes
my mind still screams ravenously for something

something i cant find
I stand in the snow
but I am warm
my bare toes nestle into the
broken crust of ice and crystals
I look up into the white sky
of frosted clouds and feel at
home
running my fingertips over
my cheekbones
I feel scars
I feel the weight of each scar
rooting into my skin
twisting the memories
and cavernous dreams
into each other
creating a web
of scar tissue
inspired by this photo: http://www.flickr.com/photos/genmoncada/7523604368/
do you ever feel a scream
in your blood?

do you feel a scream
in your chest?

like a bubble of pressure
that feels like nervous laughter
building up in your stomach

almost feels like butterflies

but when you let the butterflies out
they burst into the air

they pop like balloons
and they turn into
a scream
I plant my bare feet on
wet concrete
little stones pushing
into my foot
with their dull heads

they dig up and
I dig down into
what they call the earth

I'm not sure the earth is
still here

I look up into the sky
what could be blue is
smeared with gray
white and black
flat clouds swollen
with more grey
rain

thunderbolts strike
and rumbling cries
of thunder roll off the
tumbling shoulders
of the wind's crashing
body

the clouds rip open
Physics and Philosophy go hand in hand,
I have to say.
One without the other is a hollow, empty shell.
But every now and then, you'll find someone
Who says they're two different things.
And they are.
They're completely different.
But one without the other is an empty, dry shell.

Every time you look at a ray of sunshine, you're looking back in time.
Time is distance,
Time is relative.
This is what Physics will tell you.
But Philosophy might say,
Time is not a fixed thing,
It's so unfixed we can control and warp it
With our minds.

We can crack the universe open and empty it out into
A sparkly pile of planets and stars with Philosophy,
And use Physics to make sure that
None of our stars
Break.
trees don't always grow
tall and strong
sometimes they grow skinny
cause it takes too long.
there's never enough
space at the bottom
so it's a race to the
top, and then it's just
a year or two until
it's time to chop.
All of a sudden it's
acres of land, looks
like a beach without
water or sand.
No use crying over it,
it's already done
but it's also hard to
say "it's time to have
fun"
because when there's
something eating
you at the back of your
brain, chances
are it'll leave a tear
stain
in the middle of
a thought,
and you'll just be caught
in a big ***** field
after the big chop.
There will be a day when I leave this ugly place.
I will join the cosmos.
The light of every star will shine
In my eyes,
Comet tails leaving streaks of
Blue and purple on my skin.
I will float with whatever's in
Space and
Whatever's not.
I will cradle planets
In my hands and
Whisper nonsense into
The oblivion of space.
Spin along with time,
Twist and tumble
Dancing with glowing orbs.
I will roll over rings
and drift through pink
Clouds.
I will join the cosmos,
And leave this ugly place.
I don my pale green hoodie,
blending into the seafoam crowd
Unsmiling eyes and unlaughing lips
united in a tightly held breath

Silent metal walls
curve over our pale heads
Cold, dull and smeared
with printless finger marks

White floors and white faces
waver under the ripples
of quiet breath
Tension strangling whatever
might have been left over
i found an *******
at the bottom was a smashed
frame
broken glass poking holes
at the bottom
i told them i reached in
and all the glass scratched me
and that was the
first time
I stood at the top of a hill
I wasn't actually there
Not physically
I was carried by my mind
And the will to push through
The grey tedium of what my
sad life had become

The hill
It was green
The grass was tall
and the wind smelled
like colours I can't describe
with my meek words
The sky was soft
and blurred into the horizon
It gently sloped
meeting the farthest edge of the universe
with an elegant gradience

I stood on the hill
silently
and let myself become a
single
blade of grass
swaying with the earth's
muffled heartbeat
and the wind's
tender breath
It's that moment when the laser catches your hand
and it's illuminated in a purple haze for just a second,
That moment when everyone brings their hands way above their
heads and claps at the exact same time as
everyone else, an electric sound ringing from above,
The moment when you scream the lyrics, each syllable
bouncing off against the others like bubbles but
you can't even hear yourself

It's that moment when the yellow lights turn the blue
balloons green and the red ones orange,
It's the moment that you dance with everyone around you
in a collective up down crazy crazy crazy movement
whether you know them or not.

At that moment, everything slows down.
You look around and see faces highlighted
purple, blue, red and yellow.
Hands are turned up to the sky,
mouths open.
At that moment you know that you are no longer
YOU,
but just a small part of something much bigger.
It seems that at that moment, the universe is
****** into the room
and you are simply lost
in the moment.
Let me tell you a
secret.
Let me show you
who I am.
Let me open my drawers
and fish out my notebook,
The notebook
I write in,
Draw in,
Sometimes silently
smile into.
Let me unzip my
exterior and
remove my shadowy mask,
For that is not who I am.

I am not a hardened shell,
I am not a shadowy face.
I am every color of our unexplored
universe,
I am a shape-shifting soul,
exploding like red fireworks into
a velvet black sky,
I am the glowing embers of a
dying fire,
warm and humming.
I am the iridescent wings
of a tiny hummingbird,
I am a red sunrise, bursting over the mountains
like ripe grapes in a sticky hand.
I am a book on a shelf.
I am dusty and faded, my spine
stained with ink and
my pages
filled with thought.

Let me show you that I am all these things,
And please,
let me tell you
that
honestly,
the secret is,
you are,
too.
i miss the snow.
i miss the crunch of it under
my hiking boots,
the way if fell silently.
if you stood quietly, though,
you could hear how
silent it really is.
you could hear the flakes
landing on blackened branches,
barren and naked.
you could see the plume
of your own white breath
take flight like a dove
into the grey sky,
a part of you
lifted up to the weighted
limbs of murmuring trees,
a part of you to join
the falling snow,
silent.
fall turns to winter
a heartbeat
is there?
was there?
will there be?
dusty branches fall away
leaving the bark to peel and fade
to white
white like black
a shade
translucent, opaque, quiet, alone, hiding from what makes them run
your withered wings
you can’t fly
you can’t get away from Why,
get past Why
is it all you ask, Why?
the wind spins past your outstretched fingers, rustling though the dead feathers on your back
humming
ash falls like snow
a black and white world
for granted, did you take it?
winter turns to spring
but flowers don’t grow here, not anymore
isn’t it funny how a broken clock
still ticks
even after time has stopped?
your eyes don’t blink
and your tears have frozen
to your fingers, cheeks
the cold ground you’ve lain on
stuck in a moment
of decaying emotion
years old
humming
like the wind
an undercurrent
too deep to find, buried far too deep into your
past
present
future
but you don’t have a future
you can’t fly
All these scars
They flourish and bloom
Twisting up and down my body
White
Pink
Red
Some are new
Some are old
But they are all
Scars
And they all stand
For the same thing

They stand for
Me
Because some of those
Scars
Are mine
And some belong
To the
World I live in

My world
Is me
And I represent
My world
Thorns
All up and down my sides
In my neck
Drawing tiny little beads of blood

Swiping at the blood
My hand comes away green
And covered in tiny little
Thorns

And I feel my DNA
Twisting
And untwisting
Until they take on a new shape

Not my shape
And once again
I swat the thorns
That are up and down my sides
vanity calamity, sickening insanity
trying to be myself when all i see is
profanity
running out of wall space and spots
to keep my clothes
try to fold them up but my talent's not
in rows
floor's covered in dust, pencils and
carpet throws
gotta hide my stuff instead of just dispose
I'll hit the pavement before i take another step
my balance is off, body made of things from
where i slept,
tin cans and wrappers, i try to remove
my husk, but i can't in the dusk
my biggest fear is abruptly ****** to the surface
i have no purpose
i'm beginning to rust
To be free.
How common a thought,
but unusual a concept.
Are you free,
little bee?
To be weightless in mind,
body,
spirt.
Hollow,
would you be?
To be free,
my little bee,
would you have to
be devoid of
all things-
mind?
body?
spirit?

No,
my little bee.
Nobody.
Could you shatter the
chains and float
away to the sun?
My little bee.
Darling.
You were born into
self inflicted-
external,
internal-
captivity.
Mind,
body,
spirit.

You are bound by
what makes you
human.
Little bee.
Little bee,
the catch 22 is
upon us.
life and death are
funny concepts.
we know nothing of either.
they are so simple,
yet so technical, so
complex.
like black and white
is death black?
or is it white?
is immortality a combination
of both?
life seems almost pointless,
death being just as
meaningless in the sense that
there almost seems to
be no reason to
either live or die.
why live when death is
there to take it away,
why die when you've lived?
it's difficult to grasp the concept
of death,
of no life,
when you are alive.
the tracks disappear into the fog
the mist dampens everything around me
i hear a train horn in the distance and then
it's silent again
the dusty, dawn blue sky hovers hesitantly
above the cloud i'm in
the train horn blows again and
i see lights through the fog
and dissolve into the watery air
the train rushes over the tracks with
the weight of a million tons
it crashes into my ghost and splits it
into a million slices
There are these sections in Gen's brain. Partitioned off by veined red walls, white wooden walls, and metal walls covered in padlocks. Behind each wall is another Gen, essentially. Every room supporting some variation of Genevieve. It's very busy, very cramped.

The Quiet Room
This room is quiet.
Happy?
Sad?
Is there even a Gen in here?
Gen?
WHERE THE HELL ARE YOU?!
GEN!!?

The Blue Room
This room is filled with hazy blue mist.
The Gen blends in.
Nobody seeing the Gen in the blue room.
Like the quiet room, we don't even know if she's in there.
But we can hear her.
Faintly breathing.
Sort of.

The Yellow Room
This room has walls made of music.
The walls sing!
The Gen in the middle of the room smiles!
And sings!
This Gen is heard!
It smells like paper in this room.
Paper, and laundry detergent.
And a little like ink, too.

The Maze
We think this is where the REAL GEN,
The Big Gen,
Got trapped.
There are doors in these maze walls,
Leading to more walls and doors
And rooms.
We haven't found her yet.
She's in here somewhere.
She's probably scared.
Lost,
A little confused.

— The End —