The blinking line stares back at me,
Waiting, waiting patiently,
For words that never seemed to be
Rooted in reality.
The opening and closing of countless doors
Echo into the words, creeping in silently,
Because despite the complex sentences and twisted metaphors,
I cannot hide that which refuses to tread lightly.
The tap-a-tap-tap of the keys,
The truth spilling out, hysterical,
In words no one else will possibly, truly see
Because for them, at most, it is fantastically lyrical.
And nothing more.