I wish things were as easy as my paper makes it seem..

   My paper makes the far away seem close, as we pander things that are so far away, I could never dream of touching them. You can take my fear away, but who are you really helping?
   Me and my pen make the impossible happen in each blink of an eye... But as soon as I close the book... The gray cold world stares back at me once again...
   I wish to take the pain away... But maybe that's not me, who whispers the promises of future repent and an end of the ever consistent perpetual gloom and sorrow filled nights that let my frosty breath fog up the contuses of the room and I call to death... I know in my heart that he will never answer, all those cold nights wishing of a death that just wouldn't come. It's as if he wishes to torture. me into breaking. He is the worst of all pains... Old Girmm. He is calling just in the shadows of frosted dark tones. and night terrors, just on the verge of tears I cry out... Where is the Mocking Jay? 
   He follows little girls, along my goblin's side during the brook side rushes with a case that they say holds their selling s but really holds my fate and offers them an addicting fruit that will take their sanity? away whilst he sings and dances and shouts at the second moon; "Grimm! We got one! How pleasant to the taste she is... Saturated in lies we bade our selling s, but the lies were sweet enough! And now we shall feast on her soul!" Ah yes, the Mocking Jay shalt feast tonight... But on my soul, no. How can you take what someone no longer has, in hopes of making a difference to them...?
   Will they not feast on what isn't there to eat, and see it as the most delicious gruel they'd ever lay their wrinkled hands on whilst he cry and crow at the second moon with his false winnings from little girls as they chew open beaked. And no other bird can cry for longer... than the black and white Mocking Jay...
   All hustle and bustle I decompose in my coffin of a life, suffocation on it's brink and hysteria teasing at my worm bait mind and I squint into a darkness that will never be lessened... The Mocking Jay...
   Why do you look at what is and think "why"? When you cold think of what is and wonder "why not"? For that Mocking Jay could cock no longer, and his winnings could all go to waste... If and only if... The little girls chose to smite him with their dolls and hungered addictions. But then, who will give them more fruit? Who will they trust to keep their sanity "in a safe place where no one could fine them"? They will not go against their supplier, and I lay low waiting, for a revolution that one part of me knows will never come, and another part of me knows, will never end...