"Oh Ella, what have you done?"
Must I explain again?
I've fallen in love with fear,
It's made me stronger and
Fuled my brand of fire. Is that wrong?
"Oh Ella, what have you done?"
I'll say it once,
I've learned to slap sour, poetic, spitting lips
Away from my face
With no hesitation, is that wrong?
"Oh Ella, what have you done?"
I can't keep repeating.
I walked through hell with a smile.
Skipping around flames, letting dust
Tangle in my hair. Is that wrong?
"Oh Ella, what have you done?"
Do not judge my strength.
I've raised myself on the edge
Of the lion's backbone,
Now foverever changed, safe, why is that wrong?


"Oh Ella, what have you done?"
Nothing.

I no longer answer to you.

My world is forgein shimmering lights.
Lights speeding over, around, through me
In a constant blur and
I stumble in attempt to follow.
My world is a sea of faces.
Smiling, laughing faces that
Quickly flicker and transform,
Twisiting in agony, and only I can see.
My world is a swarm of words.
Humanity's words invading my mind,
Coursing through my veins
And causing system failures in my mind.

Welcome.

I'm caught up in your mystery,
Can't breath in your hazel eyes,
But it's okay, I promise,
My heart still beats sometimes.

My heart is a broken compass.
Constantly whirling,
Lost, in a constant battle with gravity.
Spinning in search for north,
But always finding itself trapped
And staring into the east of your eyes instead.

I have a golden locket,
That hangs around my neck,
It's heavy as weighted stone,
And I'm a nervous wreck.
I keep it with me through each day,
And through the passing cold,
I keep it close, next to my heart,
Although it has grown old.
I have this ****** and rusted locket,
Filled with ash and pain,
I don't know why I wear it still,
Don't ask me to explain.

Your eyes are piercing,
Deep as the raging sea.
And yet they dance ceaselessly
With the laughter of a child.
Your arms, tired and struggling to remain steady,
Still somehow find time
To fly across the monkey bars of your youth.
Your words, often in constant motion,
Often filled with diverting, musical nothings, can be
Replaced with a love made clear, yearning to understand.
So what I ask of you,
Dear Stranger,
Is that you'll promise yourself,
The kind, loving theorist and the wonderfully outlandish child
Both,
That you'll leave neither behind,
Cherishing the two forever
As you make your way through the maze
That is this life.