Convinced is a word made to treat me as if i’m mad.

I am not conviced of anything. There is no further proof needed other than what my own eyes can see.

Flowers of eyes. Rain of red.

the bells that ring over her melancholy song.

Madness not for believing, but for being content of my constant company.

They hang from the trees like willows. lie in the grass like snakes.

Mostly they are there peacefully. Unable to control their own fate they must not have any over mine. Unless i invite them too.

The only time my hair stands is when they speak.

Though they are many they are also alone.

Whispers of parties and promises of power.

They know me well as they’ve followed all my life.

They poke at my anger, my mistakes, my wishes.

stroking my hair, caressing my thighs.

they make me dream, they make me weak.

Ask me for friends or i shall join them.

i will not give in.

i don’t like when they speak.