Mister Medusa

 

I am trying to break inside. this is not an open casket or a light source, this is my soul. It is convoluted and wary, brutal and quick, it hops off like a jackrabbit whenever truth and world collide, I am just a jailor searching for my charge. They arent big heavy bars, or Alcatraz, but my hands make excellent time and perfect locks. There are no visions and gratitude, no fears or faith, no hope or love, there are only moments that stay inside. I don't like floating inside them corridors or flying through them clouds, but I do it anyway, pursuit and capture, always unstill and demanding, are the root of my anxiety, the bane of me. And my soul, I wonder what he thinks. Oh he's a he, I used to call him she, but he didn't come closer, apparently he won't respond to flattery. He walks around, looks, all ready to stay and live each day, then I stand against him, and he's off like a shot, apparently one glimpse turns me to stone