THE INBETWEEN

If you were awake at night,
Unable to sleep, unable to rest,
Would you look over the edge?
Observe your own death?

The indeterminate space between
The living and the dead
Where creativity lives
Closed arms and crossed legs

I stare into her eyes every night
A reluctant Salvador Dali
Walking in the equilibrium
Of that taut wire nightly.

I can see the Inbetween
I speak with the greats,
I attempt to paint with them,
I am no good, compared to these fates.

They care not, they only accept
Grateful for the company
Creativity eases her stance
Staring at my heart hungrily.

She is queen here in the Inbetween.
These relics she hangs with, her servants
The monarchy is not dead here,
She is worshiped, by minds overburdened.

Overburdened by a lack of sleep
From looking over the edge
From seeing something they must mimic
Something not-of-this-word, full fledged,
Eager to show the real world,
What their tormented mind sees.

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