Rituals.

What, exactly, am I doing, that I have managed to fail so well at it?

Here's some poetry to tide you over while I work on a rather large rant about geek-related topics. I figure I've taken up enough space on other people's webpages. The Chalk Outline Sleeping on a dead man's mattress Dreaming of a man in drag Hung With cut strings Rolling back into oblivion The sour notes of sacrilege Ringing in my ears A House of Flies and a Welcome Home The stroke of my skin An expression waiting to begin Building to a crescendo Amounting to an emotion I am striving to reach a level of awareness I have yet to comprehend There is a sensation in me I cannot understand A coat of ice And the destruction of my future My own little corner A haven where I have been shuttled and locked away My portal waits With visions dancing at my arrival I am on the inside Sleep is kept at bay for an eternity while my creativity storms free But all my inspiration builds to desperation and strays about in a ungainly waste of effort And for all I have accomplished I have nothi