It feels as though I’m stuck between these walls walls thick enough to cut me deep
To cut me to the extent I feel like I am drowning
Drowning in my own sea, that I built for myself
For myself!
I’m a half alive doll left on the shelf and
you people,
You people are my ventriloquists
I can’t betray my loneliness
Or pretend it does not exist
As it lingers around filling my head
my poor old head, with memories so dead
I don’t mean recently put to bed
I mean…
Anne frank dead
I’m better off in Pangea, 300 million years ago
With nobody to torture me, ridicule me nowhere to run or hide
Or cry
Or fail
Or wonder
Or suffer
Or even be
Real
Oh Pangea, take me home
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