i think about the old gods coming back

and i think about the kind of tile used on the floor of atlantis 

i think about libraries as temples

i think about the sound of a banshee compared to the sound of a young revolutionary 

i think too much i think 

i'm not sure if saying all of this outloud is what makes me crazy but i think keeping it in would make me ill

i think i like the kind of crazy i am 

i think sometimes that i'm separated from the world by a pane of glass  not even clear glass but like stained glass like smokey and hard to see through

i think that maybe its a lie but i think that when i speak and when i write the blood on that glass seems to fade just a little

and sometimes i think i can really see 

sometimes i think i can really touch

sometimes i think i can really taste, and feel the rest of the world

sometimes i even think i can hear the rest of you too and that's the one that saves me from being cut into ribbons on red glass

sometimes i think i made the glass myself other times  i don't 

look its not a solid metaphor but its also glass its known for how well it breaks: the same with all good metaphors

i think about being happy 

on a stage to the sound of applause

in a room with likeminded people  

i think about fighting for everything i've ever wanted

and i think about giving up 

i think about not fighting at all and if it counts as giving up if i never tried 

i think about thinking less

will it make me happier than the stage and the people and the pen

will i miss the way lights shines off the tiles of atlantis and the sounds of the voices of the  people i've made up? 

i think about lackluster final battles

i think about worthy hellos

i think a lot about myself

i think ill write down some of these thoughts and press them against the sanctimonious stained glass. 

I think I'll ask "Hey, what do you think?"