Gimme Some Sugar

I am sitting here.
I am selfish.
If I stop writing I will die. I used to say, "If I stop writing poetry I may as well be dead", and now I feel as if I write to pospone a bad trip, a deadly accident, liberation.
Every day I get more miserable and depressed and yet.. on this cusp - the brink of mutilation I feel more clarity.
For the first time in an age I am cognitive which seems to be the most beautiful irony since I cannot use this clear glass for looking, only reflections of what I know already and what I refuse to aknowledge but have seen my whole life.
This room is just full of sharps, the house is basically a walk-in suicide masion and the roads are all dusky and beautiful. I think I may have lost a few marbles under the desk.
I am sitting here.
I am selfish.
I take everything I need but will never give. That is nature.
Not mine.
I want to be the blossom that cracks open into the Sun, giving his fire this clarity, stealing his passions.
I will be the Moon in her calm ebbing and flowing- cool waters and deep dreams. There lies the life I beg to give and to nourish those that already live under the shade of my cyclical silver smile.
I want to be silent on the inside. Peace without murmers. Silence without chaos. Still without static.
Most days, the voices are comfort. There are kitchen maids and nannies from lost eras, strict mothers and poor slaves with whom I have dinner and civilised conversations. I help the slaves to clean and the kitchen staff to cook. I sit and embroider listening to harps that have long since become ruble and dust, compost and junk buried away. I also dip into other conversations and go about my day listening to exchanges between many types of people. Once, I am the mother in daycare socialising. Another time, perhaps I am watching an army of men weep and bare raw emotion before war.
This type of behaviour is so simple to analyse I find myself doing it. And then I become to caught up telling myself what explanations are there. And it all falls down just like London Bridge. I'm a few knives short of a crayon box.