Refinement is always tethered
                 before the lynch of
where we should
                         balance ourselves.
Questionable harmonies  between the
                    blade of reality clasping
at the throat of every word spoken.

We perceive ourselves beyond the
                         visual aspects of self.
But in reality were holding a thorn
                to the silhouette of beauty.
          Ready to either asphyxiate our
meaning or to cut ourselves from reality.

If I were to draw me
If I were to paint me
If I were to create a physical representation of me me

I would draw a dancer
One who seems in control
Like she has it together
Like she has full command of her movements, of the floor, of her partner, of the music
She knows what she is doing and she is doing it well
Her partner trusts her
The floor trusts her
She does not trust her
She is making it up as she goes
But she knows she is making it up wrong
But they can't know that.

I would draw a child
full of insecurities
Full of rebellion
Full of doubt - in herself; in the world
A black hole for love
A vessel of fear
But they can't know that either

I would draw me as a kind warrior. A commander
as I step into an imaginative reality that is aided by games, by friends.
I am confident there.
My mistakes are large, but there is nothing real to lose - we can always try again.
My compassion is a rare gem, noticed by any who get close enough to look
(mainly jagged rocks are seen in these seas)
The friendships are Real. And I am too.

I would draw myself as a child.
At least, that is how it would look at first
I would be standing next to a man, my dad.
Upon looking closely, one would realize the man is the child.
And the child is the adult.

I would draw myself as a mom
Picked by her kids. Chosen. Looked up to.
Seen as cool, wise, infallible. A great mom. One full of love.
They would only be right about that last part
And they would only be right about that last part sometimes

...            n            ll   b
Her last   ight wi       e ...
               f            th  m

They slumber in their stubbornness, they, alone

They have seen their brethren and extensions lost to the ebenflow

All that is left of themselves is what has not been lost or given.

They have shielded the meek since they left, the safety of the waters, to the bountiful yet perilous shores and banks.

A foot hold for the scenery and possibilities a fort against the storms and heavens tribulations.

Shadows cast, air guided

To be left, alone, I have to leave all I've known or Is known.
I think me a star when I'm only dust.

I try sympathize and synchroniz not knowing I is the disconnect.

I wake in their home surrounded in my stubbornness now they think me my own.

Dust for the young monoliths to grow.

It's three A.M.,
I'm still awake...
Everybody's calling, but it's way too late.
So I decide,
to take a ride...

A hanging fog,
no license plates,
I don't know where to go, but I can find a better place.
I'll  park my car,
inside this haze...

Faded...
Faded...
I know I'm gonna find no peace tonight!
Just make a plan,
to stay awake...

And I'll be fine,
if I can find,
Another way to live without another white line,
without *******,
or Dexedrine...

With how I feel,
I need some pills,
I'll stimulate my brain,  hopping on the 'D' train,
And we can ride
And see the sky...

It's six A.M.,
I'm still awake,
Everybody's still calling, for Christ's sake!
But I don't care,
And I'll be there...

I've stayed alive,
since Friday night,
The week has only started but I know I'll survive,
This isn't much,
It's just enough...

Faded...
Faded...
Just another day when I can ride or die!
Just watch the sky
And nevermind...

A shadow rises in the morning,
A sudden darkness through the trees.
The sun is shining through the doorway,
The spirits whisper on the breeze.

I found myself a lonely island,
A place, I felt,  I'd find some peace,
I missed the cliff as I was driving,
Missed the warm rush of the sea.

Another night on my horizon,
I stole a candle for some light,
I'd never thought much of surviving,
But I feel sure it'll be alright.

The lizard greets me in the morning,
The scaly messengers of kings.
And life is anything but boring,
when all that's left is empty streets.

The bells are calling them to mourning,
The ones who march in silent sleep.
A field of poppies beckons for me;
A shallow grave but three feet deep.