before, i was too young to understand.
i think i still am.
But now, i can discern this as hell;
it used to be an altered state of heaven.
I am painting myself crimson,
but my art has never been an exhibit.
the closest thing to that,
i was called an episonde-

I am a mere light on the television.

A sitcom, for the enjoyment of masses
too dull to know that i AM me,
not just playing it on TV.
Well, there's no accounting for waste;
it runs rampant through my veins,
through my own hell.

I used to sit on a couch in my
altered state of heaven,
never seeing it was me on the screen.
In my mind, it was someone
playing me on TV.
If i had broken my attention,
for but a flash of a second,

i would have seen the scars he was leaving


were mine

06/26/2003

Author's Note: therapy;

Posted on 06/27/2003
Copyright © 2025 Andrew S Adams