Studying You

The drums are playing an interesting, but usual beat within this cage of bones, containing only one prisoner. Wheat and water make up the night, foreign to company when the lethal pen stalks its prey. Conversations with two mirrors make the drum beat hurt. God I miss those keys, so soothing, yet complicated, is there anyone else in love with black and white? She was listening to her eyes to focus but her efforts were futile. I've come to the conclusion that water flows within these veins, in the red sand's absence. If the drum beat keeps getting louder, who or what is playing them? I believe I am a moth, yes, it makes perfect sense, but residing in a feathered labyrinth of only butterflies. Humor flows, but is it another mask? Maybe, does it matter? I've decided the moon is actually an ocean, waiting to be explored, and I, Nobody, am the only one who can breathe underneath its surface. Time is my mortal enemy, and I will stop at nothing to end it. I'm swimming in numbers, equations of distrust and inner turmoil. The air I breathe is soil to the souls of flightless birds who strive to dream and dream to strive. This heart needs batteries because they're running low. Recharge me with your warmth or else I turn off for good. Robotic religions decide the fate of the "inferior" fools that have free minds and a voice to speak them, who have their hearts on their sleeves waiting to be crushed, but we have spares, so crush away. The pills swallow me until I dissolve into an unnatural cold forest of the chemically inclined. Vent to me darling, I love the way you fret; hypnotized by the glance you cast. Control me, I beg you. Confirmation go home. I'm sick with you, dictation flu.