• I'm dreaming, of people with beaks for noses, and plastic for skin,
    I'm seeing, nothing, but those who sew their mouths shut with clothes pins.
    Who was I to think, that moving far away from the center of the turmoil, would take it all away?
    A fool, I say, a fool indeed, I've made that quite clear in this life I lead.
    Waiting for all that's been taken from those good good hearts, to be returned to their doorsteps, unharmed.

    In the mirror, I see nothing but those dreams of the life I left behind.
    No, these eyes aren't filled with regret, they're filled with the questions that were left in my heart.
    I can move on like everyone else, I can throw memories out when they reach their expiration dates.
    Though when, I look out at this new residence, I sit, I sing, I weep, I remember the actions of years long past.

    Some may, insinuate, that I'm quite insane, with eyes full wonder and no one to blame for the paths that I've crossed, and the bridges that have fallen through.
    Though, to those minds who accuse me, of abnormality, I have to wonder who takes responsibility for you, you who is able to walk roads, unmarked, making mistakes, falling and bruising your skin, who takes out their bandages and taking away that pain for you?

    I've been preached too, and sung too, dreamed about, love, and hated, like mostly everyone else who proclaims themselves human. Though, to be quite honest I'll never completely comprehend, what makes us all believe that another mind could never possibly be in the same place that we were once.

    However, they do tell me that beggars can't be choosers. Though, that is a concept generally applied to material things, and necessities, maybe it all just ties into what we've yet to learn, and what we've lived through.

    I've begged for knowledge, though specifics keep me buried under a shield of darkness. I've cried out for light, but because of previous questions that I've dared to ask, the two things that I have wished for, the light of hope and the darkness of unspecified knowledge, locking me in the familiar center that everyone else seems to find themselves inside of. The comfortable gray zone.

    So, with these ideas leaking over freshly cut paper, I can look to the skies and smile in that subtle way that most people do when they don't honestly understand, my eyes tracing pathways through the dark air and to the stars, and know that the turmoil that I've been so desperate to leave, that world of plastic faces and quiet souls, is all that I've ever had, it's all that I've ever known, it's all that I've ever loved.