Is anybody out there?
Is anybody out there? Is anybody awake, to hear my howls in the night, my wail louder than the cricket’s sound and colder than a wolf’s yelp? Save me from these nightmares, drag me away from these demons, the hapless creation of my imagination, a useless figment of my machinations. Is anybody out there? Save me from myself, save me from my claws, these that I use to rip myself apart. Search my brain and take out this squishy conscience, for every night she torments my highway of dreams and in the day she rolls me in guilt and regret. Save me from my decisions before the body finally quits, for the soul is willing but the flesh sure is weak. I can fix them all, but who will fix me? I can point it all out for them, give them strength and replenish their spirits but who will nourish me when I need a drink? I give them hugs and cuddle them when it is cold but who will hold me when the weather is not fair to me? Who will hold me when night comes and again I fear? Give strength to my fingers as I claw my way out of this abyss. Give my heart courage to bleed out but not to die. Give my spirit the strength to blossom from its roots of pain and drink of blood. Let me not wither even when the sun burns my scalp red and lifts the dew off my petals. I am not a rose, I am a wild flower that oozes wild beauty. It is not all that see me but those who do never forget me. Take me off this chiming train of life. Help me carry my bags and hop off the road with no destination. Is anyone out there, to snap me out of this reverie, to see beyond the symptoms and save me from the disease? Is there a drug that can treat this pain and despondency? Is there a hammer that will knock these dreams out of my head permanently? Is there poison, oh so sweet poison that can numb this pain out of this system? All my handkerchiefs are dripping but tears still don’t stop dropping. If I was a man I would find a way to stop all this but I am just a human being. I am just a little child, curious and vulnerable. I am just a hapless victim of time. Time to me is not a healer. It is the reaper that pulls black scars out of my white wounds. It is a mixture of sand and pepper rubbed into my raw ulcers. Time is not my healer. It is my killer. Is anybody out there? Answer me. Come and pluck me off these spinning hands before I decay away. Help me down before the world forgets my name, or worse still, before I forget my name. I thought what I feared most were my moments of madness but time has taught me, that what I fear most is my moments of sanity and truth, for it is then that I am my broken self, a piece of relic in a cave, a tattered piece of sail floating in a disturbed sea.
Is anybody out there? Is anybody awake, to hear my howls in the night, my wail louder than the cricket’s sound and colder than a wolf’s yelp? Save me from these nightmares, drag me away from these demons, the hapless creation of my imagination, a useless figment of my machinations. Is anybody out there? Save me from myself, save me from my claws, these that I use to rip myself apart. Search my brain and take out this squishy conscience, for every night she torments my highway of dreams and in the day she rolls me in guilt and regret. Save me from my decisions before the body finally quits, for the soul is willing but the flesh sure is weak. I can fix them all, but who will fix me? I can point it all out for them, give them strength and replenish their spirits but who will nourish me when I need a drink? I give them hugs and cuddle them when it is cold but who will hold me when the weather is not fair to me? Who will hold me when night comes and again I fear? Give strength to my fingers as I claw my way out of this abyss. Give my heart courage to bleed out but not to die. Give my spirit the strength to blossom from its roots of pain and drink of blood. Let me not wither even when the sun burns my scalp red and lifts the dew off my petals. I am not a rose, I am a wild flower that oozes wild beauty. It is not all that see me but those who do never forget me. Take me off this chiming train of life. Help me carry my bags and hop off the road with no destination. Is anyone out there, to snap me out of this reverie, to see beyond the symptoms and save me from the disease? Is there a drug that can treat this pain and despondency? Is there a hammer that will knock these dreams out of my head permanently? Is there poison, oh so sweet poison that can numb this pain out of this system? All my handkerchiefs are dripping but tears still don’t stop dropping. If I was a man I would find a way to stop all this but I am just a human being. I am just a little child, curious and vulnerable. I am just a hapless victim of time. Time to me is not a healer. It is the reaper that pulls black scars out of my white wounds. It is a mixture of sand and pepper rubbed into my raw ulcers. Time is not my healer. It is my killer. Is anybody out there? Answer me. Come and pluck me off these spinning hands before I decay away. Help me down before the world forgets my name, or worse still, before I forget my name. I thought what I feared most were my moments of madness but time has taught me, that what I fear most is my moments of sanity and truth, for it is then that I am my broken self, a piece of relic in a cave, a tattered piece of sail floating in a disturbed sea.
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