My season is coming

My season is coming,
and its a strong wind.
Cold, and blistery,
not an arctic freeze
but a real cold spell.

My mind is blunt,
not ready to betray its secret.
Its full, not empty,
holding on...
It can no longer be
the faker,
it wants to let loose,
to be free.

Lost in a delusion,
the voice is far louder than
my own conscious thought,
whose voice is that.
Its screaming, so loud
I don't know whats going on.
My eyes are closed.

Open my eyes, and
I am yelling at the top of my lungs.
i must be going mad, because
I don't know what hurts,
I don't know how I got to this point.

God forgive me for enticing death
naked with my dance.
Death invited me first.
I just accepted this invitation.

My bones are chilled,
I am cold and need a sweater
I am numb,
I need a drink,
something to remove the
pain.

When I was a adolescent
I held promise,
now I hold confusion.
I am bored,
and need entertainment.
Thats why i create what I
am living.
I am lonely, empty, and sad.

How do I know,
i don't know what I don't know
but i do know what i can't do anymore.

Insanity,
its the process of doing the same thing
and expecting a different outcome.
But I forgot to notice I was doing the same thing.

If there is a God than he needs to come
now, because I am cold.

My season is coming,
I hope it comes quickly this time,
and he leaves no open doors,
or empty spaces.

My season,
if I can get to another one,
will I be stronger than when I started,
or will it break me in two?

One day the seasons will stop,
then maybe I will dance.

 © 2011 Stefanie Stevens