Silently, "I need to tell you something."
I approach. Falter, walk away.

I need to break this bond I have with silence,
This unhealthy affair I have with solitude.

I haven't even the energy to pull the words up from my stomach.
I heave,
Retching out nothing but bile and air.

I have so many things to say,
Passing fruitlessly through the space between my ears.

Speaking of space, that seams to be where I exist.
It's either that, or this is Purgatory.

Hell.
Too much conscience to be clinically depressed,
Too far gone to be "normal",
Nothingness.

"This is what it feels like to be a ghost."
To no one, again.

Lest you find yourself amongst the bones,
Mask your face and quiet your soul.

Flock in lines of the mundane and meek,
Zip your lips, peacful keep.

This genocide of individuality is perverting our kind, incestually.
Perfect patterns, mechanically, processed, soundly.

The flawed are pushed aside,
The individuals are boxed up, shipped out, Pariahs.

So, don your masks, one and all!
Suit up, and watch your sheeple fall.

Oh, Tepid Girl!
You insipid fool,
Beware your step!
Your bank-less waters,
Brackish, deep.
Keep your head
above the break, girl!
You're gonna sink.
You're neither here
Nor there, girl!
Can't go back,
Stuck, stand still.

Oh, paint your face girl
It doesn't change,
Face the light!
You aren't beauty,
You're that grey area,
In between,
Smart but mute, girl.
Blinders on,
Hackles drawn,
You're neither hot
Nor cold, girl.
Can't hang on,
Quick, patch up.

Oh, Tepid Girl!
You insipid fool,
You burned yourself.
On Monotony,
So Robotically!
Tragically,
Girl.

My heart has many rooms,
I occupy but a few.
The rest go unvisited.
Till the light began to flicker on
and I've discovered a new part of me.
Take my hand,
lead me through the mazes of hallways.
Show me the rooms,
I've constructed for you.
Inhabit it.
Feed it with your passion of life.
Till my heart is lit ablaze from it.
Light each room with your warmth.

Make my heart into our home.

Led by delusion in blinders,
Stilled by shackles on my hands and silenced with a *******.
This life is lived locked on the wrong side of the bullet proof glass.
Half truths are the only truth.
Every coin, every story, has only one side.
The path before, and for miles behind me, is filled with glass and burning coals.
My mind is free, but what point does it serve?
My auto biography is a lie, redacted by the masters of the universe.
This is my world.
This catatonic existence is self made.