white walls,
solid empty,
begging to be a canvas.
silent,
ominous,
echoing and reverberating
with the slowly dropping pins of my mind.

lights out,
i call and everything shifts to overdrive.
my pulse is through the roof,
the beating has moved to my ears
as if to drown out the silence.

i'm wondering when the panic stops.

i'm searching for any thing
that bears resemblance to that which is dreamt.
dreams so often confused,
misconstrued,
bent at will to provide us with the most pleasing ideas.
time will only pass,
its up to me,
to us,
to usher them
and

it

is

still

so



EMPTY

It's my special place
where I talk to people
I'm not afraid
of the dark and lone
I find my solace
                 ...in the thoughts that race
When I open my eyes
                 ...I find it gone
Don't take it away from me
my right to be alone
It's my special place
where I talk to people
where I am me
and the people is me
It makes me smile
It makes me sad
but it's my special place
and it's all myself
It's where I hide
It's where I belong
It’s where I live,
where I am never alone

Someday I will be
As brave as a metaphor.

**** people,
who tell me to be calm.
talk to my mother ******' hand.

every little thing is an excuse
    to explode.  
              reaction, action, explosion,
                        and ultimately implosion.

i act out emotionally coz
i don't want to deal with myself.
more and more i'm being less of a
            drama queen.

but i'd be ****** if i let go of my
               inner queen.
     coz when's she's not loco,
        she's wise and kind.

even straight self identifying
queer men with father issues
        can unleash their
                  queen.

Ohhh the elaborate plots,
of a girl trying to depart,
when she needs to ****.

What a striking metaphor,
to the core, for the attack,
against a natural score.

A silent symphony,
silent and deadly :{ buttt,
don't worry, you're too pretty.