Let's just call it Something like Poetry

The darkness of my small room surrounds the bright screen as I search for
words to capture a meaning that I have yet to comprehend and give voice to.
The music tickles at my brain and a memory that is still blurry forms into a
single word and then the silence is broken by the cacophony of feelings,
desires, wants, needs and the losses that fill the space inbetween what I am
going to write and what I want to keep safe and warm inside of my dreams.

I type with the fury of one who has waited so long that the impressions 
I have experienced are but the ghosts along the outer walls of my sanctuary
that wall in what I have left and left without, like the ideas that spawn bad 
seeds to creep like savage vines with razor sharp thorns around my ivory
towers, the illusion remains somewhat intact although this is not how I had
planned to act, the final fallacy, in the hideous little cracks of the rules
I wanted to keep and those I had to flail out in chaos so that my words
would spurn the changes and remain solitary far away from the contact.

It's largely untouchable as the cliches fight like prisoners in the yard
who want to be heard under the uncaring stars that makes up the tragedy
of infamy, I laugh at my word play knowing that the genius is largely
missed as if someone who has henceforth remained unknown just out
of focus, just a little out of reach, strange amongst the strange- now all
at once familiar yet beyond my ability to grasp at its meaning as it shakes
with mirthless wit at my attempts to capture all that it was before the cursor
stops and the words drain away from my emotional effort on the page.