Hiding in myself as i find reasons to stay there, as i speak to myself, worrying about nothing as life turns me over a fire, the spit roast that is human fragility. I create dead space there too, quiet darkness where i hide all the ugly things. The shadows cast by insecurities, the lies reinforced by prideful stupidity. I sit in my space, My own little nightmare that eats me, I feed this little disease of mine as it isolates my light with its darkened shroud. I build a maze too,in there. like tartarus, like a coffin slowly filling with dirt. It gets small,stifling,i claw for life,I scream like the enemies of the gods. Its my space still, I created this world of horrors and darkness, rivers of molten larva flowing Like a young planet still taking form, I work still,trying to get the light to shine through to me. kyalo.
After the years added on, from nursery bed to institutionalized slavery, they polish me. I have donned different shapes, some of obedience, love and hate. I have worn them well. I have worked on the lie as my eccentricities were filed down or added on. As they beat my malleable spirit to submission. The speech patterns, the queens language, the ill fitting clothes,stifling Fashions borrowed from hollow crowds. I am molded, broken,soldiered, put through the crucible of replication. A once blank canvas torn and mended over and over again. They polish me still, Painted red colors with blackish hues, a banner man,a mascot. Dancing to the beat of their drums. kyalo.