At Night

It is eight o'clock at night and my mind is humming, and is perceived as hollow, so that all may flow in.  That is, if anything should arrive.  I am alone.  This is a truth and a lie.

I am tired.

Tired of the manufactured, the endless hallways of the lifeless.

"No!" I call out into the dark.

I love you,
I hate you.

"Chaos!" cheers the crowd.

I do not care for your play money and broken toys.  They are empty dreams, empty things.

Is this death?

This is not me, this is a facade.

Look, at the top, a landslide!  Watch all things shatter.  Beneath this placid heart is madness.

Just ignore what is written here.  I'll wake up tomorrow and go on.

It's probably nothing.

Never mind.

1-16-12