No Pretense

I'm balancing what I cannot explain, and I feel as though my whole everything is at stake.

I've got a fear of phobias. It's a terrible situation where I've got to fake like make believe pretend to friends that this thick skin isn't paper-thin.

In conversation, I'm a one-man nation, an independent state of affairs all in order; suffering no fools. Behind backs it's scraped-knee feelings and boo-boo desperation. And both are true.

I think I've imagined myself. Brainwave building blocks to make me matter getting scattered with every call that isn't coming. I've got pieces spread all over. Paradise peninsula bays to heartland plains and could care less parts in between.

The universe is laughing. I had it all, the brains, the brawn, with a flaw or two just for fun between the lines laughing stock and the only one who doesn't get it. I do, you know. I just don't find it funny.

My private planes crash like smiles. For miles and miles and...

I'm a face to face formidable force; and so susceptible to out of sight, out of losing my fucking mind containing this cage. It's all conversation snatches and 3...2...1...nothing. A constant countdown with no contact coming, leaving me longing for ANYTHING but this.

I'm a savior, a sucker, a stepping-stone, and a christ-like mess fighting a fight inside trying to decide something simple. How to perform open-heart let it go in three easy steps. Regrets.

And I never want to dig you out of me. Little voice, tiny judge, hold me true. I'm tip-toe toppling and tumbling, stumbling from step to step but thank gods I know where I'm headed.


Dichotomy is a part of me. Before it all, before the fall, before bloodline battles, promises, prophecies, sadducees and salvation, there were little boy smiles that still reside inside. Soft spots, tear drops, and I'm finally saying what wanted to be said.

I've wanted to hate you, but not really. All I hate is what wants to hurt hearth and home. You're ate up convicted and convinced I'm bent and broken into pound the wall shake your head disappointed sighs. But for the instinct, you may have missed the eyes, the sad goodbyes, the I STILL love you cries.

I've made fun of fools before, but I feel them. I've been the cool calm conceited and if laughing behind backs dude don't you get it give up is all it is I can take it. There's lots of scars to prove that true.

You know I've got not a lot, but my one thing is my word, and I gave it. Those Valhalla voices won't forget. I'll make it mean something. But it's no stiff-backed breach of contract that holds me. It's the way you fit the shape that molds me. Roll your eyes, but you'll see.

The people make the steeple. And sometimes instinct and indifference are just defenses