Fact

It's scary when you find yourself awake,
face first in a pillow
writing tomorrows poetry
on the insides of your eyelids.
I write poetry,
like you count sheep.
It's even worse when you can't remember falling asleep
not because you're intoxicated,
but because your mind
just can't differentiate
the feeling of awake,
and the feeling of sleep.
And these are the things that keep me from dreaming,
Cursing my hands for their need to flow
Smothering my brain in a fabricy hell.
I was a romantic,
before someone blew my cover,
and told me I was a cynic in disguise.
And maybe I am everything
everything people say I am.
At least I can know,
they are sleeping soundly with their
cruel assumptions.

Their hands grasping the horns of lies real tight.
Liars just want to be liars,
and I am a light set forth in a world
that is simply craving light.

Maybe,
just maybe,
it would be safer for me to BE everything they want me to be.
If I am in fact heartless,
falling in love could become difficult,
and it might feel good again.
And it's easy, truly
to put on the masks you all want me to assume.
I am egotistical
switch.
I am cruel.
switch.
I say what you want to say.
switch.
I am your ego coming unglued.
Because in a world where girls get naked
just to prove they can be somebody,
I suppose it's okay for them to blame me.
Somebody has to fall for emotional shortcomings.
Somebody has to be the brain behind the breast.
So feed me,
like a fire,
roaring at your feet,
The elements of my mind,
could run circles around the elements of the world,
So why envy me?
Why not love me?
embrace me, know me, feel me,
anything to prove that I am real-
Maybe this is why I don't sleep.
Because I'm caught up in cowards and whiners,
stealing away beauty from within the air tight seal of the truth.
inhale it,
breathe it in,
and it will get you high,
but when you live for it,
You'll know that an honest soul
is worth more than any of your lives.