• Undefinition
    By Krystal

    I’m falling up, into a place inside my Self that shouldn’t exist, called
    order.
    My god, it scares to within an inch of my life that I could get here so easily, and never realize that it can’t feel it.
    Oh, it’s there alright, I can almost feel it worming through my ‘damaged’ brain, feeding its chemicals into me, to stop the ‘pain’ of the loving place, called
    disorder.
    I always knew it would be Hell, I always had a feeling this would go wrong, so I guess it’s all made more terrifying by the way the that it is all going so ‘right’.
    Instead of zig-zag path ways, the chaos in the order, and the bright blue almost-cirlce of moonlight in my brightest, deepest, coldest, night.
    I'm burning in the hard, weak, sunlight, where the grass is so frail, I can write my name in it, just by spilling water from a hose.
    K-R-Y-S-T-A-L
    What does that spell children?
    ‘Letters?’
    I don’t know!
    Just let let me be,
    Playing insanity with just me.
    My Self is my place, I call it home.
    I share it – 1000 fold, with only mySelf to have and hold.
    I’m terrified here,
    This Place is killing me,
    No, it’s not, it the
    ‘best thing I’ve had in years’
    So how come when my thoughts run straight, it brings me to tears?
    Because when I’m here,
    I see no curling snipes here, only trees and 'we's and well played fallacies,
    Straight lines,
    my Self defined.
    The logic of misunderstandings used to travel in my brain at the speed of Krystal, the velocity of terminal craziness, and the never slowing acceleration of words.
    Now I’m stuck to boxes, instead of corners, my small places inside my Self are changed to large empty hallways, filled with locked doors, and the comfort of madness is muffled, kidnapped in a bright room,
    slipping away.
    I’ve lived with myself the way that the oceans live with tides changing,
    structured,
    but never tied down.
    Now I’m locked up in a harbor, made of the unbreakable bonds, called
    ‘it’ll all be better now’.
    So someone save me from the words I’ll never say out loud, the things I said, to get them all off my case, maybe I didn’t want to be fixed, defined and sterilized,
    Maybe I liked the way I heard voices in my head, saying,
    ‘Hey, you
    Krystal,
    It’s me,
    Krystal,
    Talking to
    YOU
    Krystal,
    Saying it’s okay to go your own way,
    And just stay crazy.’
    I walk the line that is never straight, that breaks and fakes, it separates, and holds me close, and says,
    ‘it’s all right, don’t worry, they’re all wrong.’
    Maybe I liked the certainty of me, the real me,
    the one who can only think only in riddles,
    express my words only written, disguised, and not my own.
    The great Unknown.
    So pack your bags, your easels, your cameras.
    I’m done playing the game of one,
    It seems to me, I have to face, instead of music, a drowning silence, the cacophony of voices that are not my own.
    Making non-sense from the cenus that isn’t mine.
    So I guess that since I can’t find an ending, I should be looking for a beginning,
    Mine, Preferably.
    But those are hard to find these days, because ordered chaos just isn’t the same.