I sit in this room and

Write to you

Echoes of a past

Rush silently

By. Meaningless;

Frivolous thoughts

Entwined, their

Bleary eyes

Wide with the look of

Dejection.

Hopeful inside of a

Better future.

Or would it come by?

Would it

Ever appear?

Rising from the depth of

Your spoofed out brain?

You pretend to

Know me, but do you

Really know? Me or

Anyone else who

Walks by your side

Hears your voice,

Reads your thoughts

Your pain, your hope,

But do not

Understand mine?

While I write

I see

Warped images of

You flicker

And die. In my mind.

What do I write?

You want to know,

Your eyes question me

Across oceans

Of pale blue tempestuousness

Rising, frothing,

Dashing against the

Incomprehension of

Your mind.

You do not know.

Do not try to know

Why I write. Sitting

In this room

A refuge,

A cocoon of solitude.

Hemmed in by walls

That keep

The ugliness of

This world, this

Reality away

From me As

I write.

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