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How I Feel


What am I feeling
                I'd tell you if I could
                The truth is I don't even know
                                I rarely do
 
What am I thinking
                I'm thinking of a song
                      It's not one you know
                      It's not one anyone knows
                             no one but me
 
     It plays in my mind over and over
        There's no rhythm or beat
         I'd give you the lyrics,
                 But it'd just be empty
 
          There are no words to the song of my heart
          There are no connected thoughts
 
     There are no notes or music at all
            Yet it keeps on playing
 
     There is no tune to get stuck in your head
             It's stuck in mine
                          and mine alone
                                         it doesn't end
                               it just repeats
                            different everytime
                           yet always the same
 
          always lost
                            nothing to hold to
                                                         everything swirling
                            everything falling
 
The song of the dark
     but not of the night
          no stars or moon
               to shine or give peace
          no shimmering breezes
               or crisp cool air
            only deep pits
and the noise of nothing
 
the song of the cold
     but not like sparkling snow
          like the cold stone wall
                       with no life, no soul
                 the coldness of death
         with the hatred of life
the tone of orange
                   the colors of me
 
the song of the bird
     but not of the crow
           not so rough and full
           not passionately so
     the sound of the vulture
           as high as the sun
                 barely in sight
          while you cover your ears
 
  the sound of my mind
  the sound of my heart
  the sound of my soul
they are one
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schnoseb

Benjamin P.S. is a being of immense integrity, habitually semi-boisterous, sans ostentatiousness, and sibling to seven. He is skilled in the art of art, melodic and harmonious in music. Seldom garrulous; it is somewhat a rarity for this bizarre being to be heard uttering anything auxiliary a grunt. This individual has a great extent of outlandish schemes being administrated in his psyche; but you only see the translucent structure, you encompass a diminutive amount of his true form- only some is illuminated within your perception.

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