Jan 22 2007

On the 7th day,

I’ll rest with you,

And

Do whatever you want me to.

I’ll speak any language,

Or

Lament any words,

To keep you from the her clutches.

Woe

is me- oh it’s me,

How the concrete plants my feet,

Here

this mirror gazes back at me,

Wicked laughter – can’t you see?

This

siren- so smooth and sheik,

Is it me,

or

am I asleep?

I’m supposed to be

steering my life,

Yet

Here I sit idle,

Filled with strife.

For

it is I alone,

Who does not move,

I who will not budge,

I just

Sit here stuck,

Gazing at this iridescent moon.

Accomplishing nothing,

But

Surrendering my identity,

Always too soon.