ALMOST reason

On trying to admit how sad I am, I smile. It's pretending. That's how they get me. Catch me, trap me into their silly fucking games. Where I'm not the princess or the king. Where I am nothing but the people I have met. It isn't funny, it's a JOKE. How they change the walks and walls...
See this is a labyrinth of emotions and navigating through them is impossible for a child such as myself. and then I'm clearly in distress when you ask me to explain myself, but why?
I'm trying to see how sad I really am but I'm endlessly hoping I'm nothing at all. That I will not wake up tomorrow concious at all because I never really existed. That, of all things, would be the ultimate dream. To wake from your reverie state and realize
or actually I mean not to wake at all. Not because you're dying, or dead...no. Because you were never alive, and all these years, what they were proving was pointless
because you aren't actually
real.

Do you ever dream of never waking up?- or is that what they call the endless sleep.
Infinity.
No one wants death here, ah... but no one wants life.

FRESH

It is of course fresh inside. New snow lacking footprints. Lacking noise, inside...everything is white and clean and empty. With a rapid, fickle beat that's non-existent...oh, inside everything is marvellous and you'll never, ever know.

opening doors

Ivory lakes and florescent smiles--that's what I see. Millions of ants, moving in lines, marching to be free. No burning skin of wallpaper ghosts, no violets of blue who shall tear... But from my balcony sitting, I am trying to play the game fair.
So this is for the imaginative; the worrying warts who aren't free. This is for the damaged, the cupboard kids, and me. The ice cream walkways, the highways of net, the tightrope they're begging to cross... Welcome to just Outside here...welcome, outside the box.

Looking glass window

We go to open the labyrinth's door

where the hopeless and dreamers have tread. 

It's the window we're watching, 

the blooming outside, that we find ourselves

needing instead.

Knock on the wood and pray for the best

but what are you praying for?

Outside these walls there's a world of dreams--

if you'll only just open the door. 

24 24 24 24 24 24 24 24 24 24 24 24 24 24 24 24 24 24 24 24 24 24 24 24 24 24 24 24 24 24 24 24 24 24 24 24 24 24 24 24 24 24 24 24 24 24 24 24 24 24 24 24 24 24 24 24 24 24 24 24 24 24 24 24 24 24 24 24 24 24 24 24 24 24 24 24.

Waking hours

In monsters we trust
and I'll set them all free
rather than scaring
I'll let THEM fall asleep.

Swelling.

And that is the reality of my brain.