The zebra called out from his cell,
"Please help me! I'm in hell!
These stripes aren't mine! I'm a horse!"

The jailer just laughed and shook her keys.
"Man, they ALL say that.
Even that burglar the spotted cat."

When our Ego lets us believe,
We know it all, and nothing is left to achieve,
Our life seems in order in false-centered selves.…
Then, it is time to turn to our Soul,
Time to step forward, to say it all,
For it is this turning that determines,
Do we outlive or fall.

Shell like.
Insides evaporated.
Sense of self gone.
A sack of biology.
Corpse.

I write the words that I wish I could hear,
they flow from my lips, from my fingertips.
A gentle sound that wraps around my mind,
a peaceful world encompasses my soul as I write.
I record what is important to me.
As the way I feel and what I wish I could hear,
power this drive to fill the world with my words.
I speak to those that I care,
I will use my words to share
the way that I feel,
as words can have such an effect,
and I do not want to let any feelings be left.
While my words may not change lives, or move mountains,
they release my soul and make the weight lift off my shoulders.
While when I write it might not be exactly how I feel,
it is the words and feelings that I wish to hear.

You've poisoned my once favorite songs
as I sing the words I can only taste your mouth.
As my music use to be my escape
Now, it pulls me back under.
I'm trying to swim
with weights around my ankles,
and waves that keep pushing me down.
Where is the shore?
As the lyrics play through my mind,
my heart sinks to my stomach.
The memories of us replace the rhythms,
and my sad broken heart, replaces the happiness I use to feel.

I am haunted.
Empty hands.
Chapped lips.
Lonely bed.
Cold home.
Cold heart.
Your absence still lingers.

Why are you my poltergeist?

EYE
       ARE
               ART



                         ART
                                 ARE
                                         EYE

Oh such inspiration, such brilliance. Art still lives in my words