I live in a grave.
My deepest thoughts sleep
locked in my sarcophagus
which no one can unearth.
...
At home in the park
where the black squirrels go.
Awake in a dream,
alone in the cold.
...
The illusion of fulfillment,
a cataclysm of movement.
I am King of the inevitable,
clutching at the controls
...
Solitude
I live in a grave.
My deepest thoughts sleep
locked in my sarcophagus
which no one can unearth.
I'll encase it in cement
then build mountains over it.
My world is my dream.
My secret desires mutate
into the world that i see.
No one else can see it.
I'll gouge my eyes with filthy fingers
then burn them into ashes.
My mind is a book,
its pages littered with lies.
It waits longing to be read,
alone without a reader.
I'll paint it on walls, ceilings, and floors
then sign it: 'anonymous'.