My Sphere of Madness

…..I’m lost in dreams.
…..Dreams of an alternate reality.
…..I dream of being another,
…..living a life that is not mine.
…..Feels like I’m starring into a mirror,
…..and behind it, I lead different life.
…..Sleep has become a time-consuming pastime.
…..I’m worried I’m sleeping my life away.
…..I think I might be escaping,
…..but I’m not really sure what from.
…..I’ve been stuck in the same place for so long,
…..and I can’t seem to find my way out.
…..I’m in need of some change,
…..some way or the other.
…..I need to turn into an different me.
…..But I might be wishing for the intangible.

I’m no poet, my words are simple and plain.
A resort when all other means seems in vain.

Sometimes they come naturally, they find me somehow,
and all I do is receive, say my thanks and bow.

At other times, they hide, and I have to seek them out.
Finding words to compliment my feelings, that’s what it’s all about..

Engrossed in my darkness, feeling lone and weak,
I write down the words I can’t bear to speak.

That’s when I search for my words in all the wrong places,
finding them hidden behind unfamiliar faces.

It’s a strange thing, really, how words can lead you astray,
and at the same time they will guide you back to you way..

I often find that my word making my head spin,
when I thought I was loosing, they make sure I win.

But usually my words take me where I don’t want to go,
telling me things I really don’t want to know.

They dig into my soul, and they’re not very kind,
revealing everything I’ve buried in the back of my mind.

When I pick up my pen, and let my thoughts drift,
they grab the chance, attacking precisely and swift.

Always finding the right spot to cause me distress,
turning my mind into a absolute mess.

Still, I keep on writing, I can’t tell you why.
There’s no explanation, even if I try..

These words, they force their way into my mind,
and I can’t resist writing down the once that I find.

They’re not always cheerful, they often make me sad.
And sometimes, the fact that they’re there, drives me mad.

Words are for writer and poets, not me.
They need someone that understands what they can be.

I believe words are like people, they have different sides,
and you can’t really know what that within them resides.

Yet, I scribble down everything, and nothing at all,
knowing it’ll pick me up when I fall.

My words are my refuge, they keep me from going insane.
And the fact is, it doesn’t really bother me that they’re plain.

Without my writing, my head would probably explode,
or at least my sanity would crumble under the heavy load.

I am not a poet, just an admirer of every word and phrase,
and the astonishing ability they hold to amaze.

They are just words, these lines I write.
They’re not meant to give you any insight,
or help you to distinguish what’s wrong or right.
My words are not joyful and bright -
but at the end of my dark tunnel, they’re my only guiding light.
They are just words, these lines I write.
But I’ll still indulge in them with all my might.

I would rather be insane and alone,
than normal and surrounded by people I don’t like.
The voices in my head keep me company anyway.

CALL IT WHATEVER YOU WANT

IT DOESN’T MATTER WICH NAME YOU GIVE IT
‘CAUSE IT DOESN’T CHANGE THE FACT
THAT IN THE END, YOU’RE STILL ALL ALONE

AND NO ONE WANT’S TO BE ALONE WHEN THE SNOW STARTS FALLING