Tourist

I don't fit anywhere.
I don't belong.
My third eye can't see.
The key of my heart's song is wrong.
My laugh's a little too loud and lasts a little too long.
The outfit I wore to this existence is innapropriate.
If inner-peace was was before me I'd trip over it, while trying to find my keys.
So please,
whoever controls the passing of days,
slow them down before my soul decays.
It's unprotected, exposed, has no where to go, and is close to surrender.
It told me so.
Brilliant dawn paints the sky with neon intensity.
Then, paints my heart with a new shade of empty.
I'm a tourist inside my own skin,
that puzzles at foreign surroundings,
before homesickness sets in.
Only my home is just a theory.
My subconscious fantasizes about a home for my psyche.
Someplace the ego can hang her hat,
and her dreams can rest safely
before a hard day's work of making them reality.
A secure home, plush but not pretentious,
nestled somewhere in a suburb of enlightenment,
not too far from downtown.
I like to be part of the action of solitude.
No solsace is found in my days.
Only after night fall can my superficial exodus begin.
I crawl out of one void, into the next,
burning out my life until it starts to collapse in on itself, forming a vacuum of super-condensed dysfunction from which creativity and love cannot escape.
This pilgrimage is taking way too long and
I'm unsure of my destination.
Pointless wandering is getting old,
someone point me in the right direction!
Perilous is the road for truth-seekers in this age of lies and destruction.
I'm stuck in a transcendental traffic jam,
since mecca's under construction.
My promise land couldn't keep the one it made.
Chaos made no promises,
so that's where I've stayed.
I'm madness in search of a method,
chaos in search of a name,
space with no location,
a player in search of a game,
a form without a funtion,
there's no where for me to go.
My soul is giving up soon.
I know, it told me so.
Unless, I soon discover this elusive sanctuary, that lies beyond time,
somewhere in the cracks between two obscure dimensions,
or the space that's between mirror and reflection.
Perhaps, it's in the next universe over from this one.
I gan graph some coordinates on my metaphysical calculator...
Oh, I forgot, you can't get the batteries it needs in this solar system.
Somewhere there lies a location
that I will callmy home,
a place that was intended for my habitation.
It will fit the curves my mind perfectly.
Then, I will know that I belong to myself
and to this life,
No longer will I be a weary tourist
inside a body I don't recgonize,
on solid ground I find intangible.
I will be able to release.
I will be able to love.
Just as soon as I find my keys.