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I'm haunted all over again.

Visions of everything I want.

But only visions.

Desired sounds float around.

But they aren't real.

I'm a ghost that's being haunted, tortured.

Shaken, and stirred.

Perfectly imperfect.

I don't make a sound when I walk.

I don't make sounds at all.

I sit in the back where I am not seen.

I absorb everything around me and process it.

I don't speak about my feelings.

This keyboard is the medium through which I share myself.

I have been 'de-voiced.'

But I can still see.

I can still listen.



A Perfect Circle - The Noose