Saturday, March 23, 2002

I am not

I could burst into poetry,
I could write a song,
I could write a story,
but then it'd come out wrong.

I could learn something,
I could watch tv,
I could learn to sing,
no, to think of it, it wouldn't be me.

I wish I could be somewhere,
far away from here,
I wish I could escape reality,
into my world of a dream.

You shouldn't be there,
you shouldn't live a dream,
ahead I look in a stare,
in deep thought it may seem.

Sometimes when I sleep,
I awake suddenly as if from fear,
its as if I just went on a life trip,
filled with sweat and tears.

But it isn't joyful,
it isn't a documentary,
I feel genuinely afraid,
of something, I don't know what.

The fear lives on,
it has now invaded my conscious,
I try to find a song,
to make it more melodious.

The happiness, the contentment,
is like a decadent facade,
perhaps I should just stop everything,
stop pretending that its alright,
because at the end of the day,
it really isn't.