Old poetry...

straight from my secret drawer...

I am defective.

Someone vandalized my life

Or was it myself?

Afraid

                     Dull and numb – extremely boring.

Falling asleep, drifting, floating,

disappearing into a fog, a mist, an endless cloud of unconsciousness. Noises drowning softly, a voice humming in the distance,

reaching out but never hitting target.

Wishing to touch, but forbidden to do so.

Wishing to see, but blinded and blurred and not capable of seeing. Wishing to hear, but unable to discern meaning form sound,

unable to detect form from matter.

Breathing slowly, deeply, letting the blood run through the tired blue veins.

Pale faced, rosy cheeked, cold, smooth, almost a dead feeling.

Alone, wanting company, but afraid to reach out,

afraid to call out,

afraid to seek out companions,

afraid to open up, to show, to tell, to ask.

Afraid of rejection, of being turned down, out, left behind.

Afraid of not being wanted, not being seen, not being heard, not being asked.

Afraid of knowing and seeing, of confrontation,

of conformity, of solitude and hermitage.