Helms For The Extra Gulsadrag '89 Poem by Wilkins Driver

for light is nearly modest i dont glow
for selflessness and emptyness i show none
of this parralel
this is a parralel inside my mind
for i am not so real as id like
for my body wasnt born and my ankles never stomped on dry land
this is my mind and im not alive and never was
but the girl i thought i knew her she told me a story
'why are you so unattendable when i speak towards your face you breathe out nothing but this thing that you call an angle to live on'
well i dont know but this is getting old hiding behind names
for i can state that i wilkins has never ate nor drank coffee
i was held in arms the first in '88 where i cried and sank to the bottom
of a pool
i think its intoxicated and beleive that i cant be true anymore
the lies swarm everything
like honey bees i sting inside waiting to die
so i created something like a writing uniform that i disguise in
for i am still a child seeking something more
like dissolving into a grain of clarity
the true form of me this is my first thoughts of who i want to be
for my real name is sad and gleamy
the paste on my skin holds me close to the nerves in my head
but the clue i give is this is me but the letters on my uniform spell
an unorganized mime talking out of turn this is my illusion