Within

Something ticked within

And plagued everything

Even death would dance

Tuned to this empty cold rhythm -

This tick that plagued

Everything – even death.

For even death doesn’t come

To the weak in desperation,

Strange was this damage within

And stranger the cause -

A loop within a spiral

Never ending, never beginning.

It knew the world well,

A mind abandoned by itself,

Yet would stand alien

To this very person

That I had come to be -

Myself in spite of my self

You wouldn’t recognize this soul

Disfigured and worn -

Unfit to possess any life

Nor this face,

Tattered and afraid -

Withered to contain any soul.

One that doesn’t forget,

And never refrains,

Never takes flight,

And yet never remains.

And each morning that I rise

Confuses me a little

For I can never know

How they recognize me

With all their wit and wisdom

Can they not see?

Perhaps, I think

They’re not as insane I am.