One day, my mind screams, one day. But I have waited. I have struggled. I am hanging on bare threads but I don't know for how much longer. Some day they will rip. I will fall. Will somebody catch me or watch how I splatter on the ground? Will they enjoy the sight or mourn the lost possibilities? Will they pity themselves? The only consolation for me would be to never have to listen again. Disappointement came and went whereever I stood. Never enough even when I gave everything I had.
Now, do you see? Why I reveled in your gaze? Bashed in your intelligence? Thought fondly of our conversations? Could truly call you friend?
Do you understand? Why I needed you? Why I had to be seen by you? I wanted everything you could give, I could take and vice versa. But still. As always. I am not enough. A disappointement I might be. A tool for many. I thought I was your friend, Hannibal. Maybe it was for all these things together.
A friend who disappointed and did not become as envisioned so the only option left was to use me like another tool in your favour. And look how well that played out. Ever the genius, Hannibal. When the world has forsaken you, there is nothing left. While I never harmed and you slaughtered, I got caged while you kept pretending and living on the stage that is called life.

And look how the spotlight is set on you.

A life for an act and an act for a life.

The crowd is loving you

Deep inside a forest
Hushed whispers can be heard
A creature of humanity bereft
Has got the nightlife quite disturbed

Eyes as black as blood
Reflect in the moonlight
Bare feet buried in mud
A sharp smile widened in delight

Skin pitch black
Leather to the touch
Antlers on its head
A stag in its clutch

Sharp claws caressing its snout
An unusual couple
There never was a doubt
That the stag would either
Bustle, shuffle, struggle or buckle
Instead it muzzled, nuzzles, cuddles and snuggles
All the while the creature subtle chuckles

Blending into darkness
Ready to strike and attack
You can feel each others fondness
Of him and the black feathered stag

I am the architect of my own bell-jar.
I designed it myself,
took away the edges
to leave only smooth curves.
Meticulous work,
done almost lovingly
but not quite.

Here, one could get comfortable,
immune to the waves that crash around you.  
Of course you can see them, those great walls of water,
yet you are defended in your fortress of glass
borne not of sand
but of life's consequences;
biological quirks.

I saw my bell-jar rise around me
and now can almost call it home.
I frequent it so often;
I know every inch of it,
all of its reflected imperfections,
and while it may hollow,
cold,
I understand it.
Both shelter and prison
to begin and to end
with me.