i was drawn up on a piece of
paper and tossed in the breeze

surrounding lives resound
voiceless breaths of
the windpipe of a lover

i have never met.

why else would people
stare straight through
me, gloomy glances
from my paper pupils
into angels eye sockets,

and they think that i'm human
and they think that i'm like them
and they think beautiful
thoughts on rainy days
while i'm stuck.

eyes manifest imagination into
each person's planet

but not me, what i see
reflects back and all i
can do is be what i believe
i see.

in
san
i
ty

is

ta
king

its

toll

on

me

and

i

don't know how much longer it's gonna be before
i gotta gasp for breath.

people worry when i rant,

but they don't get it
people fall in love with
people

how could anyone love me
if i don't see a person

when i look in the mirror.

shadow-whispers sing to me
and cloak me in black
cloth and when they took the
cloth off.

i hate linear equations and
computations and
numbers
because
people love numbers.

linear thought blitzes
right through me
because
I
am
a
contradiction.

chaotic enough
to be a hurricane
stuck in the body of
a person.