You
I must be psychic. It seems that everything can be going so good, but
then I start talking about the good as if it's a bad thing and it all turns
bad. 180 degrees of paranoia
What does he want????
I gave him honesty, and he gave me little more than the “small talk”
that grasped our very lips by a rope, a rope pulling and pulling at the corners
of my mouth. An effort to smile, for I wasn’t smiling…
I was crying.
Tearing tears away from my paper heart, fragile and by this point
static; an unchanging beat. You can’t love without a heart but you sent me that
heart in a text message. I read it.
Did you mean it?
Why do I get the feeling that you’re lying? Why do I get the feeling
that you’re ALWAYS LYING? Excuse me, I can’t stand excuses…
Midnight.
You drove me home, but you never stopped driving. Maybe you left me
where I needed to be, home, but no. Not a home without you. Where were you? Still
driving?
How many others were you driving?
Thriving off the knowledge that I am unhappy. Nothing. Phases.
Unhappiness. Perhaps that is why I am willing to see past this problem, but problems merely pass away.
So what about death?
Death is binding, and when I told you about my bind with dying, you told me to dye it back to the colors of lust, and
greed and envy…because that’s what you thought it was. Death can play
hide-and-seek just as I sought to seek another side of you. And telling this to
myself like you’ll hear it someday, but our someday has gone away, replaced with the faint idea of maybe. But maybe not all ideas are theories, maybe the
idea was to trick and confuse.
Who me?
Yes. But also the one person I had confided my very existence in.
You.
(Photo by Lexi Wright)
~lmw
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