...

too dark for some

not enough for others

where do you stand

between the imagined and the real

where words are thrown at you

in volumes too loud to convey a message

to convoluted to be believed

when you reflect on years driven

days walked

hours pissed upon and experience shitted out

you read stories of everyone else's happy endings

while your plot reproduces itself even when you open another book

you talk, speak, sing

only to hear the cries of a baby

the cacophony of music inunderstandable

(unable to sing you can only listen, see the bright entities of stars)

can you hear the message

of tongues untied

can you feel the passion

of hearts unleashed

or the hollow laughter

of voices unheard

or have you forced yourself

into the invisibility forever known

can you ask is it you or

date you ask the dire truth of others

the superiority that is inbred with history

the blinds placed without question or experience

is it you?

looking down at hearts

smashed and bloody

from sledgehammers borne of insecure ignorance and desperation

action taken from the visions of offered posteriors

and lost existence

or do i see the film of conjured madness;

of self-made isolation

spat from the familiar

can i speak

(is it anger you hear or pain you don't)

or can i endure

are you content with the beauty

that i cannot see

will someone drink from my stream

open with legend, offered with love

mirrors with empty reflections of hurt

and confusion understood

do we walk the same dirt, kiss the same need

fuck with the same desire

or is it me?