The Method to my Madness

I am terror

bleeding anxieties

over the white linoleum


I am the overachiever

blasting doubts and hopes

until they break the silver linings

and the clouds float away without me


I am the voice in the dark

pinning you down like insects

on my board for examination


I am the zealot

piercing the never-ending veil of

It doesn’t matter

It isn’t real


I am the prophet

shouting from my Lost-and-Found

while everyone turns away


But I am also the little girl

hiding from the stars

kissing her bear goodnight

waiting for the morning

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