quiet, quizzical,
poring haphazardly and silently
through all my experiences,
trying so desperately to find
one among the stacks and tears [sic],
one amidst the jumble,
one that relates to your madness,
your misery and your desire for self-destruction.
whispering, cynical
letting loose with a torrent
of letters tearing through
the fabric of everything you've known,
burning conciousness embroidered
upon your delicate, thin skin,
torching the remainder of your mind,
warning you of your fate.
outspoken, pondering
words written in hardship
categorized clearly, seeking...
something, special- empathy
feeling my way around the maze
bumping into thugs and villains
trying my best to avoid those bourne
by ill will and misdirected intention.
shouting, wondering
will it ever end?
can you ever see
what you are doing to yourselves,
your environment, your world?
questioning the senselessness,
restating the obvious,
dejected by your lack of consciousness

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