Floating, boundless, free.
Not looking around,
keeping my eyes shut
I don't like surprises.

Trying to live currently,
attempting not to think ahead
and wonder "oh - now what
should I write that sounds

deep and soulful and sweet?"
Honesty doesn't seem that
harmful when placed on paper.
In fact, nothing really does.

All my dreams, fears and
fetishes are mine alone.
I own this paper, this pen
between my fingertips.

I'm in control.
I'm not.
Constantly float, boundless, free,
sometimes I daydream so violently.

I experience terror when I realise -
I am conscious.
I am living.
All alone.