

ContortionEvery morning I wake up and look in the mirror. I see that scarred, pimple infested face and the no longer hidden, but openly leering, sadness in my eyes. I put on my glasses and brush my teeth. . . if only the built up grunge and reside from the terrible life I lead could be brush away so simply. . . but no, it will stand and decay until I’ve rotted away.Contortion
So I continue incognito, re-enforcing my ruse of contentment, telling stories that are as blind as eagles, and smiling simply because that is what other want to see and believe. No longer will I let anyone know I am suffering for I anticipate their enticing lies that spew from


UnrealCan you see me? Can you hear me? Can you touch me? Can you smell me?Unreal
Am I real? Am I an actual human being? Am I existing? Am I here?
Is this air I breathe real? Is that really the chilly breeze I feel on my face? Is this the sun drying my tears? Is that the earth under my blistered feet?
Your warmth, Your voice, Your smell, Your friendly smile. . .
Are you real?
The deception of untold lies The pain of cruelty undone The infidelity of love not given The forlorn eternity of contentment with


Time is SlippingTime is slippingTime is Slipping
The future has tripped Past is not present Because she is sick
Lady Luck has found a husband I hear his name is Pat They met at the end of the sky’s hair tie Where the clover is really thick
The moon is having a party The sun is not invited Constellations take a ride on the chariot of ice As the stars take a meteor shower
Old man winter has come down with a cold Mother nature is PMSing The trade winds have made a blockade And sister summer is feeling flirty
Santa has sunburn Rudolph ate Frosty’s n


Wishing WellMy wishing well Does not require pennies My wishing well Gives me pennies My wishing well Does not have water so pure My wishing well Draws up love instead My wishing well Is not made of stone My wishing well Whispers pretty things My wishing well Is not like any other My wishing well Saves me from myselfWishing Well


Cries of the LostWhy can’t we be like all those other people I see? Why can’t you love me, because of the one thing I can’t change? You know if I could, I would, just to be with youCries of the Lost
I hate this empty life; I’d leave this empty shell Without you I think I’d be better off just burning in Hell It’s my own private torture… my own private sin
You hair, I’ve always adored it, your face, the picture of beauty Your skin, my heart would thrill to be near it Just open your heart and please let me in!
Why do I burn my self so, with all these hateful lies? If I were in a better mind, you’d b


Ever fallingI wear a mask of joy I feel it all around But when I take off my mask, Why do I always feel down?Ever falling
Down?
Afraid lonely falling helpless to these words I should never hear. The world, full of blackness despair, my mind wanders near. I fall, screaming whirling in this pit of utter despair. And then I put my mask on, and everything’s there.
Down
I fall, I see that mask, falling away from me Plunging deeper, ever falling, it falls away from me I can’t reach it, my fingers brush it, But alas it’s not to be
Down
I fall


QuixoticI met an angel, once. It was the oddest thing I can remember. This was, of course, during my years in high school. I know those years get a lot of publicity, “time of your life” and all that, but I never felt anything near that when I lived them. Perhaps such a thought couldn’t occur to me- I simply lived through the experience a bit like a criminal in jail. Not that I would suggest either. Unfortunately that time of my life is long, long, gone and many of the particulars of this meeting fail me. For instance I cannot recall where we met. A dream? Certainly, my memory has a dreamlike quality. &nQuixotic


Final PrayerOh God, this is my final prayer Whatever it is, your doing up there What is your plan for me? I can’t see your plan for me….Final Prayer
Oh God, let me die Let me feel your arms around me Let me feel your grace pour through me Please help me get through these troubled times….
I don’t see what you want me to Go out, and do for you I know you have a plan for me But what it is, I cannot see
Oh God, tell me why Why am I made like this? What is my place in all this? What do I have that doesn’t let me die?
Please God, for I am sure
LordLeonius! I miss you!
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I'm your fiend! Mwahaha! I mean.. Friend.
I wasn't stalking you! That's creepy....
Can you please forgive my absentmindedness, oh great master?
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Masquerade~
Paper faces on parade,
Masquerade~
Hide your face so the world will never find you.
-Phantom of the Opera (2004 movie)
Amazing. You must get this published some day. Its a really excellent read. Great job.
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Non semper ea sunt quae videntur
*runs away*
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-:- I don't agree with what you say, but I will defend to the death your right to say it -:-
~Voltaire; French Philosopher
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People ask me what I'm hiding behind my back, it's usually the last thing they see,... that is before they realize it's just a my imaginary orange ferret Fluffy.
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Non semper ea sunt quae videntur
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