Notes: It doesnt rhyme, it is not supposed to. It doesnt make sense either, its total inconsistent prose.
Vivid
The strange thing about pure darkness is not that it is dark,
but that it lacks consistency; it is a void of light, of feeling, of thought, of hope.
A loss of humanity, if you will.
Sometimes, there is only the darkness, deep within the hearts of things,
Where even the sun would fear to tread, were he able to leave the heavens and walk.
I would fear the sun, if he came to earth,
And so I would stay snuggled within my darkness, my own void.
Once, they said I was insane,
That there is light but no tunnel,
That there are voices but not inside my head,
That there is life, but not blood on the walls.
I laughed and forced my nails deeper into my skin.
There are times I think, when insanity is only a glimpse of the other,
That which the sane fear to admit, and the insane fear to flee from.
I saw a girl once, a small, pretty girl,
With petulant lips and eyes the color of a cold gray winter morn,
And she smiled at me as they spun her through the corridors,
To save her from her own darkness.
Well, I smiled, and hoped they would save her.
I wish they would leave me to mine, I like the darkness, the fear, the screams, the things that you and they do not hear or feel but I see with vivid grays and blacks and whites.
Vivid
The strange thing about pure darkness is not that it is dark,
but that it lacks consistency; it is a void of light, of feeling, of thought, of hope.
A loss of humanity, if you will.
Sometimes, there is only the darkness, deep within the hearts of things,
Where even the sun would fear to tread, were he able to leave the heavens and walk.
I would fear the sun, if he came to earth,
And so I would stay snuggled within my darkness, my own void.
Once, they said I was insane,
That there is light but no tunnel,
That there are voices but not inside my head,
That there is life, but not blood on the walls.
I laughed and forced my nails deeper into my skin.
There are times I think, when insanity is only a glimpse of the other,
That which the sane fear to admit, and the insane fear to flee from.
I saw a girl once, a small, pretty girl,
With petulant lips and eyes the color of a cold gray winter morn,
And she smiled at me as they spun her through the corridors,
To save her from her own darkness.
Well, I smiled, and hoped they would save her.
I wish they would leave me to mine, I like the darkness, the fear, the screams, the things that you and they do not hear or feel but I see with vivid grays and blacks and whites.
