Is it me?

Or is it you?

For the years we scarpered away like dissident spew.

Acceptance should come from our real 3-D form.

Instead,

I find it in the eye of the cyber- sphere storm.

Thunder used to scare me

 Evidence was heard with me on skid row.

Now, I love a good drummer, to play my heart,

awaken you,

so you too have to face it and know.

Who are my friends among so many foes?

?

You may know my name.

You may have heard of my doings.

Gossip is for the feeble minded –

fun?

Yes, but all it does is reduce you to what I call are my fewings.

Lacking in truth and compassion.

In denial of your own feuds.

It’s a shame you, fewings, have to shine a light on my silky nudes.

Paint a picture – tell it.

Make it your own.

When you get closer to the next ear,

make sure you credit yourself with what you have weaved into that picture and sewn.

I may be mad and success is giving me an incredible hand.

We all have to play.

don’t go eyeing up all the spades.

End up back to level one and start off as a one-man marching band.

Look into my eyes.

Don’t like what you see?

Well, my dear .. what is that makes you want to get the hell up and do the blitz and flee?

See something?

someone familiar?

see your own self?

Feed your ego with ya very own distiller killer.

Rattle my bones.

I am transparent.

I know your secrets.

They are not mine to go and unleash like they are a target for a spent errant.

Ignore me if you must,

but then don’t go using my name in a scattered attempt to unearth some dust.

If you want it.

You have your own soot.

Talk about that.

At least you are sure to have more than half the goddamn loot.

Opinion is not the truth,

but suffer fools gladly,

if it gets you to feel like some kind of Mickey mouse sleuth