I think I've got this thing in my mind.
It likes to flap its wings and beat on my brain.
I think it's a bird of some kind but I can't tell.
I can tell It makes me feel crazy.
I like to fly sometimes, really whenever I can.
To Just kinda take off from here,
Though, I've never needed wings.
Sometimes I'll fly to twilight zones with trees,
Other times ocean blue places wrought with abuse.
Or even red brilliant fires where I dance and scream.
(People say I shouldn't say but there's also a place of black and pain deep somewhere in my cerebral-whatever.)
I grew on my own winds one time. They carried me past the limit of what I once knew.
Something called the sky.
Then my wings melted.
I fell,
And I still am,
And...

I think I've got this thing in my mind.