Listen to what I read as these are not the words
Of me they are the words of those above my
Thoughts echoing inside. Those of no substance
Just faint images of voices dead in my head.

They want to feel as I do to touch upon the
Surroundings but they aren't caporal. No the
Opposite they wish to linger in the background.
Venomous  perception they spit inwards to me.

"Little boy, little man, listen we speak,
"Do our shadow dance as we speak,
"Puppet on stings, as we whisper and you speak,

You look at me but my eyes see many things,
It is not only one that looks, but many scream.
Behind this onyx pupils hear their shrieks,  I
Look upon you as many not singular as you think.

"Whistle in the wind,
"Silence is our voice inside me,
"We will voice ourselves in seclusions need,  

Pretty little things the fireflies that light up my mind,
They spin webs of delusion's dance and sing. I will
Not listen to their lies as I dance upon the air, watch
Me dance upon the current, then I stop and quietness sings.