And I Say

Prick me with a needle or blow me with your air, enchant me with your eyes or still me with your smile, bore me with your cynicism or shoot me with a gun; do something worthwhile, lest I waste my time. Make me write a song, not too short or long, lest I give you silence, terrible and strong. I don’t know how it begins, O lady of my dreams, but don’t deceive me with your form, oh don’t take too long to form. This is strange, I know, but still I softly write, half-crouched in darkness, deconstructing pain. Hope is not the word, so I dare not blindly spell; maybe dreams are all I have, for stories to sustain. Tell me this, and tell me now, reader across the seas : Is solace all I seek, trapped in a glassful of need? Hah, my soul’s not too bright, fuzzy is my sight, but let me tell you this : Darkness is my light. Pretense I may spew, like an artist’s alien hues, but sincere is my game, of memory and pain. Deception? Ah, quite the frivolous dame! Bite and shake, make and break, deception in your name. I have digressed too far aloof, and now I pound my blame. On cul-de-sacs and silent graves, on morbid fantasies, lame. Back to the point mister! I grimace and say, Back to the valley of sense! So here I am, silent and stale, hungry for new game.