You can't say
You won't talk or have to
There is nothing to say
Like a chord dissociative
Or like a re-breathe
Saying alot
The joke of misinterpretation
Like an algae pond
Or of the stagnant canal
In which parasite life laughs
Homemade masks are in a parallel
It's like shingles escaping the roof in a storm
And it vibrates from the sky to your stomach
It's like you don't want to say,
When you don't have to

Dissociative:
look over your own shoulder
as you live your life.
Also means always having a
poet around to talk to.

There is an a c h i n g in my bones.
                                     A raw power.
         A thirst for desire… A n e e d.
      This night in all its innocence…

                                                              is nothing but a distraction to me.
               A way to elude the demons.
                      To resist the temptation.
                                                              To fight my urge.

Let me forget myself.  Lose myself.            

                                                               It is terrifying to think…



Yet, I will.

How do you tell someone that they’re not real
Politely?
Quietly?
I don’t know what to do anymore
What if none of this really matters
What if we’re all going to be okay
Because I’m not real
And you’re not real
But how do you say that because we aren’t actually human
We’re just pretending
Because life is about the things that we don’t understand
We don’t see
But why can’t anyone tell me how to tell them I don’t experience
What I’m supposed to because
I’m not real
And you’re not real
And reality is just an illusion because we don’t really exist
And humans are just a concept
And life is just a fleeting idea in the mind of something we can’t even begin to understand
Because we’re not real
I’m not real
I don’t understand and I can’t see with all this dust around me
Dust kicked up by the thousands of feet
All copies of the same feet marching
Oh god we’re not real we all have the same feet look at your feet
How do I say this because we aren’t real so we can’t listen and we can’t hear
Is it polite to tell someone that their entire life is false?
Can it be done quietly?
We’re all going to be okay I swear to god
Because in a thousand other places we don’t exist
And in two thousand more we are okay already
So the odds say that we’re likely to be okay here
Because we’re already okay somewhere
I swear to god
But in the long run it probably doesn't matter anyway because there is no long run
Because I’m not real
I’m not real and I can’t see oh god there’s so much dust
All I can hear is the marching
I’m not real
I’m a thought in a bubble in a cloud in the dirt
I can’t be real because they told me reality wasn’t like this
But then when I hear you speak
Why do I hear humanity’s voice
When I read those words
Your words
Why can I feel the idea creeping politely
quietly
Into my mind that I might be a real person
Because this isn’t supposed to happen
Oh god, not to just a thought
Not to a mere figment
My feet are itchy
This isn’t supposed to happen
Not to a lie
Not to a lie like me

All I know for certain is that I lost you.
Somewhere between "hello" and the goodbye that stopped my heart,
My smile didn't matter to you any longer,
And my hand became a world too heavy for you to burden.
Somewhere between "hello" and never seeing your face again
Watching the moon rise over the lake turned into a complete and utter memory
Of a moon that waited on the other side of the parking garage roof,
And love turned from a campfire
To wood too damp to kindle a flame.
I don't know where my accomplishments began affecting you
More than the spring in my step,
Or my tears became tangible evidence of discovering reality
But there was a specific point where it turned.
After so many months, years have passed, the point has left me.
My heart beats again
I smile, and write, and dance,
But for fear of finding the turning point once more
I do not love.