I know you're looking for me to write something, but all is said and done. There's nothing left to say, and nothing left to return from.

In my head is a universe that no one knows. A love that can't be shown with acts or words. I'm burning on stars
"Solo....
Inhale, in hell there's heaven."
'Beware the leaven of the Pharisees and Sadducees.'
I swim in pools of endless seas
That no one sees.
Any advice is bad advice to me,
And so I fly
"Solo"
Amongst the cumulus;
In God I trust,
But he won't save all of us.
"Inhale, in hell there's heaven."
Don't know where I'm headed.
The world is upside down-
My boots are leaded
I can't fall up...
I **** it all up.
I'm so low
And I don't know where I'm headin'
Life is on borrowed credit
I want to bash my head in-
No one seems to know why
Because I roll solo,
You can't know....
"It's hell on Earth and the city's on fire.
Inhale, in hell there's heaven."

I feel ***** when I go out in public.
Like a mangy dog everyone tries to avoid.
I don't want to cause problems, but people treat me so.
I stay to myself, someone walks up and asks what's my deal.
"I have none." I say.
They walk away, hate brooding in their eyes.
What gods have I angered to deserve such a fate.
My head hangs low as I look for scraps, to be left alone, that would be a blessing.
On a side note, writing seems to be losing its magic. Things I could not bear seem to be piling on. My escape is gone, and I fear I'm being backed into a corner, and eventually I'm going to have to fight back, only to reinforce people's image of me.

Claire ,the soiled, is a clairvoyant. Clears the air of torment, all she sees is past this moment.
She can feel the apathy and ensuing sorrow, consequence of living in tomorrow.
I hope that she can find peace of mind, so I let her borrow a piece of mine.
The offering is slim,
I could never be them, or him.
It seems, for all the dreams we have, the future is never had.
Claire the clairvoyant questions the clarion call of clarity.
I'm losing touch with her, as she's losing touch with me.
I can't see past the present.
Past and present: that's when I learn my lessons.
Past and present: these are my future confessions.
I outlast my presence, but somehow lessen my essence.
I don't know what the end is.
Where is the ending?
I'm lost in a never ending state of ignorant conjecture.
I need Claire, but she's past this, somewhere in the future, and time travel has always been confusing to me.

I want to find a way
To be pretty
For the USA.
I am more than my eye color.
More than my skin tone.
Underneath the mask I wear
Is a being that looked upon the world
And thought,
"This is not enough."
The soul knows better, but the flesh is used to the rough conditions we are kept in. Trapped in our skin. Trapped in our looks. Trapped in our insecurities. The judging eyes of others are hooks reeling me in towards their predispositions and maligned visions.
No one seems to see,
I am not the me they think I am.
I'm more than anyone could've ever imagined.