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Array
(
[sid] => 59834
[catid] => 1
[aid] => mick
[title] => Not My Own
[time] => 2004-08-12 02:23:23
[hometext] => I wrote this at a time in my life when i was really depressed and couldn't really understand who i had become.
[bodytext] => I lay on a bed of cotton and ponder my meaning. Friends easily have the advantage. My ears are too big, my head too small, with lips that are full, I spill lies to the world. The truth no one knows. My heart is a safe only my eyes can unlock. If it were breeched my life would be no more. I've built a prison to block the unnatural form of myself. Nobody knows me, not even I. My lies are so deep my blood is not red. It is black with every color washed out. My eyes see in colors others can not. They can not see what I do. My world is so dull, so bland and so unhappy. If I slit my wrists would they bleed? Have I gone too deep to ever come back? My skin is too pale, my eyes are too grey, my fingers are enough to stick into my big ears to block out the sound of reality. If this life is mine, than why am I not here? I hide under the floral covers of a bed far too large for a girl far too small. My light is no more, the darkness is gone I see nothing but the day that may ultimatly be my last. So much hate, not enough love. My life is a forest, searching for water to put out the burning inferno within. Will it all end? Someday my friend. Feet too large, arms too short, legs long enough to carry me to my tower, where I watch the real world fade from my mind and visualize my reality; my dreams, become life. My small head rests on a flat pillow as my dreams; my reality, play to the music of my prolonged attempts to breath in the life I was granted. [comments] => 3 [counter] => 176 [topic] => 21 [informant] => dartsofplsre87 [notes] => [ihome] => 0 [alanguage] => english [acomm] => 0 [haspoll] => 0 [pollID] => 0 [score] => 9 [ratings] => 2 [editpoem] => 1 [associated] => [topicname] => Lifepoems )
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