'Maybe if I touched you.'

In a mutiny of light, a revolution of the fight, a day to over shadow night. i stand. With the emperors new clothes, And i glare; An image in the mirror. A weak but soulful mind. Body nothing much to see, But scars still stand the test of time. They remind me to forget, Yet... i cannot. The wicked haunts inside my damaged, traumatized, weary, worried eyes. Will not stop. Exonerate my anxieties, Pardon my expressions... Of the life i make to be so black, Perhaps a few confessions? Have you ever had a secret, A story you can’t tell? Events that no-one is allowed to know, The sort... that if I was famous, and you knew, to the papers you would sell my soul. Because, i do. It’s torture, nothing less. Occasionally i come so close to speaking. But i retract, cannot address. The posture in my deepest parts, The lock i’ve placed upon my heart. It’s torture, I’m in distress. i wish that i could just touch someone and they would know. It’s rare i touch, I’m personless. Nobody is near enough to me, However... It doesn’t mean i do not need. In the company of light, the invasion of some wicked sight, turns my day to darkest night. i stand. With the emperors new clothes, And i glare; An image in the mirror. Getting ever thinner. i find it still so hard... To eat, to sleep, to pull the trigger; That would help me to forget, Yet, i cannot. These worried eyes, Will not stop. Pretend you know me inside out, Imagine I am perfect. Then life so black may seem a little blue, And i’ll hug you. Then you’ll know. Written January 18th, 2002 © on Jan 18 2002 08:44 AM PST, harry luck    18 • 0 • 10