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nobody@flickr.com (bubblesandjellybeans) — Sun, 15 Feb 2009 19:44:54 -0800

It is not enough to want to paint the walls with my blood,
To scream until the sky cracks and bleeds,
To pull out my hair,
To pull the marrow from my bones,
To fold in upon myself like a roadmap, bending and contorting smaller and smaller, obscuring he winding path that I've taken to get here, and to keep shrinking until I'm finally small enough to be swallowed by the gaping maw of this monstros world that hinges so delicately on the balanc between destruction and creation
No, none of this is enough to be mad
And to feel the need to create and destroy in equal measures, that unsettling thirst thrumming through my veins,
The need for permanence shaking me down to the core,
Hardly makes me brilliant
No, not crazy, nor genius at all,
Just left of normal, my friend,
So as you storm through life, buring purpose and pride to light the way for your feet,
If you let your eyes stray from your white-picket dream
If your eyes drift a little to the left you'll see me,
Huddled on the side of the road in the dark, my hair unwahsed and my mouth undone,
Writing poetry in the dirt.

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