Confession Of Obsession...I could fall through a hole in the skin of the sky,
And have a better chance of explaining the how and the why.
I could stumble upon a riff in time and in space,
And find it easier to explain the why's and how's of the case.
I could listen to lectures on quantum mechanics,
And have more luck at comprehending the planets organics.
But when it comes to computers, codes and programming,
Thank God for those friends, whom upon understanding,
Proceed to help, cure and mend what I do not know,
And for their help, I will eternally owe,
Great gratitude in plentitude of magnitudinal grace;
Their lives testimonies to the whole human race;
Brains full of knowledge I couldn't possibly touch,
My own understanding is just not enough,
To overcome the confusion that I find intriguing,
A technological world that I find fatiguing,
And though I understand less of what you say,
Then I understand the why of radioactive decay,
Don't let my inability to fully comprehend,
Encourage you to patronise and condesc
The Doctor and MeHe called again; "Run!" he said
I can still remember the day I met the Doctor; a day I never wish to forget. I remember how, on what started out as a normal day of school, a strange cloud formation appeared above my head in the yard. A large, spontaneous array of clouds, spat purples, greens, reds and blues at us. I remember feeling the electricity in the air, the high voltages crashing organic life to ruins. I remember watching as trees, plants, people disappeared before my eyes.
And of course, I remember the Doctor.
He fell through the cloud formation. He fell from the atmosphere above, bathed in the strange lights of the storm. He was constantly struck by the dangerous rays, but he seemed to be invincible; unable to attain damage from the force that wiped my teachers from the face of the earth.
I still don't know how he survived the fall; "I landed on a pocket of air", he had told me as we raced together to seek shelter. I'm still not sure why he felt the need to run; h
I Burn In Scolding FlamesAfter every draft, I burn in scolding flames, a letter to you that you will never read; a magnitude of confessions, emotions and thoughts. A multitude of arsenals, an array of literary weapons; arguments embodied in paragraphs, statements hidden in the clean sheath of the white page.
My thoughts poured out into physical existence; lead weighted down onto a page to represent the many confusions of my mind; a foothold of opinion to further grasp a clear understanding.
And yet, after every draft, I burn in scolding flames, a letter to you that you will never read.
I lash out onto the paper; arsenal flying; all troops armed for battle; ready to defend the cause at all costs. My words fly from my mind onto the white wash sheet, thoughts forming words, words forming sentences, sentences explaining thoughts. Upon the battlefield I command my soldiers; they rush for their positions, and stand strong; every sentence an honest confession, every battalion an honest thought.
I pour out my heart in