I never did it for attention,
I just did it for myself.
To bring the deep within above to breathe
and bathe within the light.
"I hate to inconvenience you,
But would you edit my thoughts?"
It all seemed so false.
Instead I scribbled pages in notebooks
and sprawled them round the house.
Sometimes the deep within can be sunburned;
It loathes to see the sun.
That's why I burned the notebooks
and watched the ink blacken and float away.
The orange red bonfire glow reflecting the death of unfinished thoughts and phrases on my face
felt like a virgin sacrifice to volcano gods to ensure a good harvest.
The words reflect on the oft conflicted pet within a terrarium
As I was looking in from above.
I'm within the thick glass,
Looking in on myself.
Which self is self?
As if the Prestige.
