The Game

My finger tips brush across the keyboard.
So many things inside my head
Itching to get out.
Where do I begin.
And how much do I let you see.
A glimmer, A glimpse
Into what is Me.

All that I could tell you
All that I could say
A seduction of thought

Whirling twirling
threatening to explode.
And when I'm done this little
diatribe
What accomplishment will be shown
None
You can't give me anything that
I can not give myself
But we'll play the game of
make believe
and fantasy
and hope.