I've seen beautiful before.
I've seen you on the inside a time or two,
a nice place to live that I guess no one can afford.
Today I see this little world from a different light..
(Cliche, I know)
maybe it is just an angle that differs?
Or maybe it is a concussion.
A fracture to the infrastructure of my existence,
my head or my heart?
I don't know which one.
Colors and objects standing still only mock me,
like they have more of a right to be here than I do.
And the particles and knots of wood and stone that stretch around my head
tell me that they know more than I do.
Am I really nothing like they say?
my movement only complicates things...
Please tell your demons to stop mocking me?
Copyright © Cassandra Howell | Year Posted 2012