There is meaning. it  slips, behind chattering teeth, under my tongue. 

Lurks just beyond the periphery of the mind's eye. Taunting, shy, mocking with silence. 

It stalls, like the tug from the hand of a spoiled child. Not something to be left, light enough to drag, but too fragile. If pushed far or  hard, it will pack up, secretly, safely, darkly, and will be off. 

Like she dreamt of the circus. 

Living like a lover. Always clinging to the back of the skull,  a vampire. 

With teeth and the scraping, she tumbles at tantrums, 

wishing reality finding her true, discernible.

i = √ -1

Sometimes I’ve wondered what it would be like to be an optimist; occasionally I think I am. On those days when I can see the world like nobody else, when I find beauty in things the average person shuns; on those days I think I couldn’t be anything but an optimist: how else could I see the good side when others see only the bad?

But now I see that I did not find good, rather I challenged what I found banal. It is not positive to negate negativity. I can see the bad now, because that’s what I do.