I am an insect hiding underground, hiding from the harsh light, hiding from you. I am an alien in my own home trying to pretend that I belong pretend that I fit in, pretend that I’m not on the end. I am away so deep down in my mind that the cracks and the corners are all that I have, all that I call my own. Associated with no one, pretending I am someone. I am no one. I’m just a face filled with bone, no thoughts, no grounds, I am eternal postmortem delving deep out of sight and shaking with fright. I am tears in the eyes of those who have lied to continue the misplaced wealth that drowns them in muddy water. I am weak and alone in my own mind trapped and locked away, no way for me to stray from the chains. I am beyond the length of time, immortal in my own mind from the uses and abuses that transfuse from my soul, creeping through body and mind until nothing reaches beyond. I am free from pain, numb to love, absent emotion. I am running wild with no where to go, alone on my own, making it up in my head. I am separated, anticipated death and found hate, found dirt, found loss. I am beyond the needs, the wants that supply the world with feeling, with emotion, with tension. I am the silver lining hidden in the mud and the muck and blood from the others searching for their home. I am the prints in the snow from the lost and the hungry and the dead. I am the voice in your head, I am the nerves and the fear. I am the now and the here. I am everything. I am nothing. I am manic and sane, bliss and pain. I am whatever you need, nothing you want. I just … am.
March 17, 2014