Skyy & Mr. Hyde

Whistling in the dark, trying to keep myself from screaming in fear. Afraid of the unknown, afraid of admitting that I'm afraid of anything. Tight-lipped for fear of giving others a foothold into my psyche. Raising my defenses lest I become another casualty like so many of my friends who trust implicitly. Never permitting myself to dive headfirst, for fear of breaking my neck. Skipping stones in the evening while fixated on the sky. Daydreaming from time to time, subquestering ideas that never come to fruition. Reading the Bible less & less these days, I used to be so full of hope, I don't know what's happen to me, life I guess? Fighting villains in my head, I'm a hero unlike any other. Swinging from tree to tree wearing nothing but my indignant intuition. Giving passer-byes the finger for flashing there headlights in my eyes. Doing something instead of nothing, laughing esoterically rather than giving a sadistic chuckle. White knuckled, I tend to beat myself down for no good reason. Hardest on myself: I could never surrender to something I wasn't sure I had no hopes of defeating. Always plotting, thinking things thoroughly to the end. Jumping into ideas that feel impulsive, standing on my head, I heard it gives good circulation to the brain. Walking in the rain trying to bottle feelings of sweet release. Picking myself up off the ground after a heavy night of drinking, I can't say no to having a good time. I used to be so free-spirited, but now all that remains of that spirit of mine is doubt & feelings of being self-conscious. Too tired to smile or to say something witty: my sarcasm has become droll & my humor lack luster. Trembling as I stand in-front of the crowd, it's not stage-fright I'm feeling; it's feelings of unworthiness & guilt that I'm experiencing. Crying without reason, crouching in the closet too guilty to cry in brood daylight. Fighting thoughts that attack without warning. Running in hopes of changing the outcome before I become what I never intended to become. Chewing fears & ungrateful poetry, I rush to turn the t.v. on to drown out my conscious from warning me of what I'm becoming.