One day at a time

Sometimes I wonder if "sanity" is ever an appropriate word for use.

In fact the only time I've heard it was when it was coming off the wagging tounges of women talking about some one who has some how miss placed it.

My sanity was washed away and floated down the drain along with the blood that it spilt.

So I welcome you all to the show, though there are no two headed beings or thin and lanky bodies that can bend into unimaginable positions, I stand here mumbling to myself.

You may think that it is all fun and games, but little do you know I am speaking to you.

Of you.

All about you.

You and your hidden passions that you think no one can see.

All the stains on your clean and pressed shirt remind me that it is not I that has lost it all.

Or maybe they remind me that I truly am insane.

But I tend to believe that my friend who is always there is real.

Though I've never been able to reach out and feel her fingers intwine with mine.

The picture that hangs in the corner is shadowed but yet I can still see his eyes shining down upon me.

A smile perks up on my lips as I imagine his, but it is something I will probably sit here missing for my whole life time.

Never to see those eyes or strands on his head again.

Looking up at the red and white stripes that make up my ceiling, knowing that I am stuck here.

All I am needed for is entertaining others, but it is not what I want.

My friend appears out of the smoke that has blown in and I begin to talk of how much I miss him.

She tells me to shut up and to stop complaining.

To let it go.

I reach out one last time to grab her hand but it shatters and cuts me like a broken window.


The sting only reminds me even more of his warm and embracing grasp I once felt.




How he was real and she never will be.