Our old uncle, Daedalus,
     he'd grin when he spoke to us
His mouth was missing teeth
and so his wisdom flowed out free
He always smelled of cheap cigars
     alleyways and corner bars
He'd tell us he had seen the world
     and this was his decree:

     "Don't fly too high, you little *****.
       You just might live to pay for it.
       The Sun is always hot,
       the ground gets harder every day."

"But, Daedalus," we would complain,
"You are old and we would fain
see the sights you saw before
          we sleep beneath the clay."

And dear old Uncle Daedalus
     he'd laugh and spit and swear at us
"You ******* little ***** had better
heed the tale I tell.
This life is one big ******* maze
with twists and turns and tricks to play.
The kings control the monsters,
who make Earth a living Hell."

We'd try to listen, try to thank
him for the words, but his breath stank
and, anyway, we thought that he
               had prob'ly **** himself

But dear old Uncle Daedalus
hung Death from lips that spoke to us
and ****** if he weren't right
about the things he always said:
"Inventiveness works, by and by
with daring, you may taunt the sky
                                   like I did
                                  but the fall is long--
my dreams and son are dead."

He always smelled of cheap cigars
     alleyways and corner bars
"You ******* little ***** had better
heed the tale I tell..."

"Don't fly too high, you little *****.
You just might live to pay for it.
The kings control the monsters,
who make Earth a living Hell."

Numbers of the lights still don't add up. The dream station on the orange bridge's sands, is so totally too far away to fly to. My life according to the animadversion of my dreams. The harangue and opprobrious odium whilst wandering about aimlessly in the square, on the blackened honey trail where I was cast around like some pebble lapidated by the wind. I barely stand, a hyaloid column soaked in fear and ambiguphobia; one girl's face is blurred by this maddening diplopia. While the haze drapes me in its suits of cinereous gray, I crawl sadly up the rise while I am bruised from the battering. My fuscous body heaps itself, exhausted and pandiculating, all I can make out in the advesperating and cloudy night, in all of its dourly silences- the gold hair fixed against the banner of light in the darkening sky and her beautiful blue eyes.

Miss sits in silence and understands,
Nothing breaks the spell.
Missing nothing, understanding,
As far as I can tell.
Miss spoke and said, the word was "sure",
An understanding guess,
Missing understanding pure,
The answer could be "yes".
Miss came and understood for sure,
But wouldn't stay for long.
Thought was insufficient lure,
When I think my guess was wrong.

Twice lost, one soul appeared, unbidden,
Ambushed, in plain sight.
Results?     All hidden.
As I walked, I thought of this,
Imagined as I sought,
A sign of full surrender,
In the battles that we fought.
I threw what always seemed, to you,
The ordnance of the soul,
Words on leaves and tissue tigers,
Weak and boring, far from whole.
My engine had an inner working, impossible to see.
My feet still carry me to you,
And you just stare at me.

Have you realized how easy it is to lie about yourself?
Put on a mask and walk around.
You are the happiest person in the world,
Hurting inside,
Silently calling out.
Finally finding friendship
In the dark corners of your empty heart.
No matter what you think,
Everyone thinks you are alright
Because of the invisible mask on your face,
And the feelings you keep under lock and key
Never show.

When you entered the room
Instead of your usual warmth
The fire in your heart had turned to embers
And only the cold entered with you.

With a grimace
you threw a wave in my direction;
then turned your back to me
and entered the block of ice that you brought with you.

You have withdrawn,
You are unreachable...to ME.
And I ask myself...FOREVER?

While I watch and wait
I think only good thoughts of you;
I Wish You Love.

Could I be wonderful?
Amazing?
Beautiful?
I am invisible, except my mistakes.

I hurt.
I am invisible.

I hide behind a mask, masking my mistakes.
I mistakenly mask my mistakes,
Striving for something more,
I mask my invisibility.
But that is my mistake;
I should be invisible.

But people don't know what,
or why,
they do this.
Am I the only one?
The only person?

Others are invisible.
They mask their invisibilities.
They hide their mistakes.
They think they are the only person,
But that makes me the only one,
The one that realizes what
Terrible hurt there is in the world.
Who else knows?
I want to cry.

AM I THE ONLY ONE?

When they look at me they see right pass me.

Yep, right pass me, right through the soul.

They see a ghost, a shadow.

Someone with mediocre tendencies.

or perhaps weirdness that cloats my physical body.

the mysteriousness of my personality choke them with fear and bewilderment.

only a few is able to encounter the lock door.

Yes, only a few is able to knock on the door with no ****.

Some are patient, waiting for it to open.

Others look at it with contempt and kick on it.

Some becomes frustrated and insane

Others celebrate it, being naive to the feeling of the door.

And everyday the door locks itself tightly.

17 bolts and locks

17 chains and plates

but no ****……

eventually the environment vitalize and degrades constantly.

a different environment each time

but the old door keeps on standing

waiting for it to be open……