I don't give a ****

The **** doesn't give a smell
The smell doesn't give a cloud
The cloud doesn't give a raindrop
The raindrop doesn't give a splash
The splash doesn't give a ripple
The ripple doesn't give a shiver
The shiver doesn't give a cold
The cold doesn't give a sneeze
The sneeze doesn't give a snot
The snot doesn't give a ******
The ****** doesn't give a dirt
The dirt doesn't give a bacteria
The bacteria doesn't give a rod
The rod doesn't give a fish
The fish doesn't give a fin
The fin doesn't give an end
The end doesn't give a death
The death doesn't give a grave
The grave doesn't give a flower
The flower doesn't give a root
The root doesn't give a plant
The plant doesn't give a strawberry
The strawberry doesn't give a seed
The seed doesn't give a sprout
The sprout doesn't give a leaf
The leaf doesn't give a stem
The stem doesn't give a bud
The bud doesn't give a flower
The flower doesn't give a petal
The petal doesn't give a pollen
The pollen doesn't give a nectar
The nectar doesn't give a honey
The honey doesn't give a sugar
The sugar doesn't give a grain
The grain doesn't give a flour
The flour doesn't a bread
The bread doesn't give a toast
The vein doesn't give a blood
The blood doesn't give a heart
The heart doesn't give me up

And I already told you,
I still don't give a **** about it!

Daedalus built the maze in which I live. The beast is dead, no need to run, though the need to hide runs deep. Other creatures haunt the dark.

Lol dumb, I know.

I have this thing, which I’ve done for as long as I can remember, where I space out but I’m still looking ahead, but also within. And little me, the shy spirit hiding behind my skull stares out of the maze through a giant telescope that opens up to the world of normies and people who understand how to be social. And I’m here, far beneath my skin, unable to relate, only able to observe.

Is it bad that I dance constantly
with dishes in my hands
and dubstep in my heart

but the only kind of dancing I want to do
is against your experienced hips?

Pardon my enthusiasm.

But I want to be rocked until the chair is broken
until the horses have run away
until our bodies are torn to pieces

with nothing left
but the beat

But what if I can't?
Am I just fooling myself
in thinking that I'm
any different
from the girl next door?

I mean, I look the same.
And act the same.
But inside, where lies
a cavernous gap of
dust and ashes
and deadening roses
lies a multitude
of sparkles,
just waiting to be
let out into the light and
shine.