You wouldn’t know it to look at me.
You probably have no clue. 
You would never be able to guess
That I have a fly in my soul. 
A constant buzz resonates throughout my being. 
The flutter of wings makes me sick.
The walk of little alien feet inside,
There is something wrong with me. 


There should be no fly inside.
No insect to harass me this way.
But the fact remains, he is there
And there with purpose. 
He is there searching, unearthing
Something decaying and rotting within. 
What soils inside, he is not sure
But still the fly looks and looks. 
The fly is not oblivious to the death smell
That drew him to my soul,
But I know,
What is rotting in my heart. 
Dreams and ideas of things to write and say. 
Visions of worlds to pen
Lay dormant, on a shelf in my soul. 
Never to see the page, be spoken aloud. 
The vibrance of my imagination,
The creativity in my soul
Molds and rusts as time glides by. 
Stale air slowly choking out my life. 
The fly can smell it. 
With a million eyes, he is starting to see the signs. 
A part of me is dying
And he wants a bite. 
So I sit here, while life is trying to be free,
But fear has got me captured. 
The rotting will continue within. 
No liberty do I see. 
You wouldn’t know it to look at me.
You probably have no clue
That my heart is slowly dying, and
That I have a fly in my soul.


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