if i were to write from my empty mind
and vacuum heart
it would be an abyss
to a never-never land
with a difference
of having no Peter Pan
and no Tinkerbell.
the neurons would not adore me
the souls could not feel me
i will be Miss Hyde
trapped in my own roles
split between the time
of confusion
but alas,
i need to fly
feel the breeze
in my ears
the whispers to my mortal self
that i am now
not a simpleton.
