ASYLUMI don’t find much peace here in this asylum…in fact I live my life day to day with expectations of nothing more than what I had experienced yesterday, never predicting the circumstance of tomorrow. Trouble is I saw her today. I have seen her a hundred times; she is the one I close my eyes at night to hold, to feel, to experience. Even as I look at her now I find the definition of my very being; her perfection forever omnipresent within the very visions that I hope will forever repeat inside my mind. Why then do I have to find her now within this realm of reality? Why would she not see me in the light of day and recognize me as she does in the night of my mind. Confusion confines me within the walls of time and misery has now become my only friend. How can I go back to the emptiness of knowing that existing without living is not Noble; searching for reason is not meaning, its not truth. I am falling to pieces, my sanity must be collecting crazy with these erratic thoughts I have named love.
I call her a thousand times, screaming and shouting through watchful eyes of desperation. And in some moments around the flicker of the flame she hears me and returns the gaze, and my life, is explained. My heart is no longer without understanding, somehow without words or complications all is simply together for now, and then with another flicker of the flame...I lose her and I wonder if they are right. Is this angel of dream real or is my insane infatuation with a being in which I have only seen within the darkness of thought an illusion? It's necessary for me to know if I am walking in the path of awareness or still sleeping in a state of brilliance. I need the explanation because my heart is once again being guided by confusion. I saw her; I know I did, trying to convince others is a mute explanation, I realize that, but I need her. I want her. If for nothing else because I know I can protect her, and she would never have to fear the silence or even the height of fear itself because I would be there to guide her, suffer for her, die for her.
Again the flame flickers and as I watch the very design of perfection saunter away from me I am paralyzed, but the torture I endure now is worth the simple knowledge of her existence. My own life would be inconsequential if I could not wake to a morning where I knew somewhere there was someone named her. And on the morning I shall awake and she has ceased within my world of existence I will know, for in that very moment of enlightenment my heart will forever discontinue its beat and I will shall be exiled to the very depths of hell; still my every thought of her.
Although the thoughts of "make believe" are detested within the definitions of my mind, because that's what they keep telling me this is "make believe", all I can do is pretend that the truthful delusion I have of carrying her heart forever is still possible. All I keep is the hope that I can shut my eyes and slip into the madness of my mind where she will be waiting for me and she will crave my touch and whisper in my ear the insanities of her feelings; cry to me her emotions of the nonexistent and confesses that her only desire is of me, and it is with her words only that I will find I am no longer hollow, no longer undone; I am esthetically whole. And it is here with in the minutes of time that ruin me I realize that the early morning rays will come and take her from me.
Whether this is a trick to my heart or a routine for my conscience I will continue because I never had a choice in loving her and it would end my life to give in and listen as my own lips confess what they want to hear. I can not deny what I know is etched within the very walls of my heart. I was not searching for this love of mine; she simply entered my unconscious one night and then began living in the very light of day I exist in. I have been caught, entrapped, and auctioned to a heart that I hope I one day find the other half to. Until then I serenade the thoughts of her that control my emotions and encourage me to fight all questions of doubt that may challenge my dreams.
I am not crazy. I hear their voices...I hear their footsteps coming and any electricity they threaten me with will never match the shock her face puts on me. So as they come I have learned to be submissively committed in this asylum and have become the act of an era in silencing my voice of argument for I know what will happen if I don't. I have experienced the charge, and have come to learn that if I take what is in their cup, if I swallow what their hand extends to me I can find the fix I need of seeing her as I once again chase her into the night capturing the permanence her casting shadow has on me as it enters and exits my soul within the white walls of my padded room
