I can't escape this reality,

so I search for a different mentality.

Yet I fear I'm losing my mind,

afraid of what I may find

If I look too close. I don't know

where the thoughts go

When they seep away through the cracks

in my skull. Maybe they're what takes me back

To the drowning place. That rioting crowd

tumbling and twisting all screaming so loud

So that I can only hear all or none. 

The haze residing in my brain has blocked out the sun

For so long that I no longer remember the sky.

Somewhere inside someone's been screaming and I never know why. 

I can only hope to whatever god that I don't need wings to fly.

Sometimes I wonder who it is you write about.

Is it someone I know?

Is it me?

Is it some other story, which none of us know?

If you tell, what would I learn?

Would we laugh together or would I take offense?

Would you?

I am curious,

but they say curiosity killed the cat.

I hate to admit it, but

I need you.

I need you to need me,

to anchor me,

to remind me

of who I am.

I need you to understand

I am stronger than I look,

and some of that strength

belongs to protecting the few

I trust.

I trust you. 

Mostly.

My friend,

I can not foretell the rosy dawn,

yet do not fear I will will be lost

to the dark,

for I,

I navigate by my own stars. 

I watch you who has so much to say.

I watch you, who speaks so easily.

I see you, so very human.

I look at myself, made of the abyss.

I look to myself, and barely catch the whisper of stories.

I see my reflection,

a face like yours,

hands like yours,

but not a mind like yours.

We stand together, but 

many lightyears span the distance.

Now I ask, what could span the difference?

I am 

the slow drift of magma pulsing against the confines of stone,

the quiet shift of the tide reclaiming coastlines,

the steady march of continents.

I am 

the whispers winding through the pine needles,

the tumbling, crackling flames painting the sidewalk auburn,

the brilliant slash of purple lances in a storm-whirled sky,

I am

the shards of crystal glazing windows,

the breath clouding the mirror,

the blurred drizzle of frozen grey skies.

I am

the stillness of the galaxy spilling across my mind,

the sacredness of the gold drifting through the canopy,

the prismatic reflections birthed by the babbling brook.

I am 

the vast grey expanse of shattered asphalt streets,

the wandering stray with dirty fur,

the rust devouring old cars and abandoned bikes.

I am

the endless churning of the sea,

the contrast of liquid obsidian and aquamarine,

the currents ferrying both trash and treasure and creature alike,

the slow warming of oceans in the spring,

(I am) shifting yet ever the same.

Forgive me if I'm too full of my self,

it seems to be a lesson I'm forever learning

how to find balance between,

no, a space away from

self-loathing and arrogance,

how to just 

take a breath

and remember  

to just be.

When I was little

I read and read

until

I wondered,

What am I looking for?

I realized

all that I wanted

was

to read my own.

Yesterday,

today,

last year,

Now it all seems 

like a story I read,

like a story read to me,

a fiction. 

And dreams?

They seem all

too real,

reality too distant.

And yet

I will not lose

all control,

I will not weep for what could be,

what should be,

I will write

my own story,

where I am the hero.