Different

Looks like fleece
A fluffy cloud with an underlying golden ivory glow.
Maybe the closest thing to heaven on earth, thus far, supposing there is such a place.
For the souls that glow with that eminance on their own most are left only to be covered with a combination of snow drenched dirt flung at their skins by mans own greed.
I drift amongst these lands a changed canvas.
Once clean and bright covered in thick tar from years of mudslinging
My soul trapped in this body I wish I could unzip and crawl out.
This existance has become so excrutiating.
Its always the same people uttering the same ultimatums and versions of who they think I am.
Im not allowed to have my own personality.
Im not allowed anything normal.
Regular emotions and thought processes totally taboo unless they can equate it with wanting "2" or some celebrity.
Im not allowed to express or explore my own soul. Its like they are afraid that I might slip from their fingers and they would lose grip of something they try so hard to control.
Like a monkey in project X, smart enough to learn and mimic behavior, maybe even smart enough to conduct the experiment itself but not smart enough to realize when someone is not thier friend, mistaking physical presence for loving companionship.
They become tired of the routine testing.
They become depressed and stop functioning as there is nothing left to keep their eyes from closing.
so many open wounds from the war and no one allows even one to close before gashing me again.
Remember that the next time you have the odacity to come within a hundred yards and "ya or yep" me.
Talk about terrorism.
Copyright March 22, 8:55 pm, L. R. Issel