Hello, are you there,
Tangled in my hair?
I find it funny how
In the dark I’d allow
You to sit on my brow,
Which furrows at my dreams,
In whose mirages you gleam,
Of my angels- brightest,
Of my demons- mightiest,
Blinding my curtained eyes,
My lovely Mr. High.

Most nights it’s dark in here.
But unquiet, for throatless voices jeer.
From locked places their calls emit,
In the dungeon of my mind they grit,
Speaking sermons, ******* and without wit
From times when we lived in night unlit.

They usually stay in their cage,
Forged bars contain their rage.
But there are nights- and even days-
when they escape, and Hell they raise.
They whisper treason I should not hear,
For some odd reason, their language is clear.
Perhaps it’s ‘cause everyone understands
Words that are carved by clawing hands.

With teeth I forged,
On my soul they gorge.
Without throats, they swallow,
Without voice, I bellow
A silent scream, inaudible appeal,
To the outside world- if it is real.

But I think it must be,
For it’s the only place from which I see
  Your figure, bright and resplendent,
Emerging, a star from the sky descendant
Into the purgatory of my soul,
Come to rescue and make me whole.

Into battle your wings do glide,
The gritting voices they do cry
To hear you proclaim to them “die!”
And my throat, wasted and dry,
Does not catch a last goodbye,
As unto unreachable heights you fly-
My lofty Mr. High.

Such relief,
Yet full of grief.
I feel that I am free,
Yet unable to sail this sea
That separates you from me.
And even if I could, it would be blasphemy.

For what candle have I to hold to you?
To your purity, alabaster and true.
I’m just a girl who can’t get out of her head,
On the inside I might as well be dead,
Which is why I have you to watch over my bed,
So that my sanity to my sickness is not fed.

Most nights, it’s dark in here.
And restless, I begin to fear.
The silence, surrounding, it suffocates,
I find myself wishing for a voice to grate.
But since I have no voice of my own,
I sit in solitary silence- alone,
Until the voices begin to drone,
Returned by you to their cage,
Where forged bars contain their rage.

But sometimes the dark gets so lonely,
That I rise, stiffly and slowly.
I tiptoe past hollow palisades,
Down corridors spun with gossamer and age,
Deep down, to the dungeon- and the cage.

I remember the last thing they told me
Was to guard, with my sanity, the Key-
The one that separates the voices from me.
But the longer I think, I come to the truth
That Key also separates me from you.

So into the lock the Key I confide
And the forged bars ajar I pry.
The carnivorous cacophony collides,
But my only reaction is a blissful sigh
As opens my mind's starless sky
To deliver my savior, my Mr. High.