Quasimodo

Dark is the mind hiding in it's words, while wearing colorful pages and a pen to cover it's shadow still, and be stilled.

Now who could see what is hidden underneath it, or count it's scars?
Is there a drink or pill to numb such a thing as this? as I ?
Could there be a God or being to give pause to these thoughts that are crippling?

All it's pieces, mind body and spirit labeled by the world.
Simple opinions of others no less, and surely not the truth, but still salt to the wound.

Are the eyes truly windows to the soul?
if you looked at mine, what do you think you would see?
All of time in a glass bottle?
The world in a snow globe?
Lights and sound voided by choice,
to withdraw, to withhold, to settle myself away in it's walls.

I wonder what you would do knowing you could only live in a bell tower hidden away,
that everything else is impossible,intolerable, unreasonable, undesirable, uncomfortable, unthinkable, unshakable.