When the stage seems too full
or I too alone.
When those who support me leave me all alone
I feel no nothing, but everything.
That's the problem you see, when you're one such as me,
one pent up and supressed until all the rest are sitting below
very neat in a row, watching from anxious faces, for me to perform.
But I feel most myself, when above all the rest, I am someone else entirely.
All fake, all fraud, make-up, and armed to the teeth with BS,
it causes dissention in my own mind.
Unrest in my soul
Addiction unborn to reality but still existant, anticipating and bereft of good judgement.
So much conflict.
To write though....
oh......to write
release and satisfaction, orgasmic, organic beauty.
True peace is found in the written word.
True love comes from within, once poured out to those around,
though not appreciated,
will someday overflow to someone else, who will benefit...
Purpose though?
Where is the purpose of love when you feel dry?

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