01 December, 2012


I could write a book of lyrics
Of songs I won't listen to now,
Of memories I have destroyed.
I could write a song of sadness,
Or draw a line in stone.
I could die from all this crazy,
Be consumed if I let it out,
Be destroyed if I'm not careful.
I could allow these visions
To eat me from the inside,
To rip me on the outside.
I could live in that world,
In the memories and what if's,
In the surrealism of my mind.
I could lose myself deep
In the bottom of my shell,
In a place of maybe.
I could drop my heart,
And it would fall through me.
I could take this picture,
And in it, there'd be blood.
I could break my name-
But I've done that already!
I could take a run, take a leap.
I could sleep my day away,
I could throw up.
I could dwell on the things I've "seen"-
On that place where I was kept
After I snapped-
When I was overrun by the four of them
And they fought each other over me.
I wouldn't even respond!
It wasn't until he came,
And called another name-
Only then did some semblance of reality
Penetrate my being.
Only then did I notice how ragged
I had become. I was them-
Or they were me.
I lost control. I lost myself,
Amid the mix of those four.
They kept rolling through my mind
Like my own private mantra:
The clover, the bluebonnet,
The sweet pea, the rose.
Green, blue, pink, red.
But then he was there,
And for a moment I could function.
For a moment, I was all or none.
But I am so scared, that it might
Happen to me- that it's actually
Possible. Is it?