Spiraling Insanity #51 of 365 Poems

I don’t write life with a pen.
I do it with a strangeness dripping
from the eyes of people I know.
Some call it tears.

I don’t coverup love with blankets.
I cover it with a smile torn
from a past moment in time.
Some call it Youth.

I don’t feel the pain with my hands.
I feel it with a fear
I know I cannot live without.
Some call it failure.

I don’t speak when I am moving
I speak in stillness when
not a muscle can twitch.
But they call it dead…

I don’t dance when I listen to music
I do it in the silent dreams that break open
when I wake up in the clouds
And some call it Insanity