Your fear speaks volumes. Voice-box cauldron, thoughts become vapor; boiling through gritted teeth.

Every face appears as a demon. You see through the veil of grief. Nobody ever told you life would be scary… full of haunt, regret… sorrowed memories; a fear of the future so cruel, so without compassion… riddled in marijuana keef.

Life, as if a dream. Waking life, cruelty bleeds through the tip of a pen; black ink.
Try as I might, I can’t recall you, life. Life, as a dream.
Woe is you, waking life. So true, so memorable.

I am not a victim. I can see through it. So temporal. So incredible. The life I live is a blessing making me constantly feel curious about what awaits me next; in my own masurbatory mind… consumed with regret in every text.

I regret you not, my thought. I regret not you, who created me. You, who cradled me always. You, who never told a lie. Thought, if only for a moment. Thought, my creator.

Words expeditious, forward, plain.
Intently I contemplate words unheard by even you, the speaker. You, the playwright. You, your only concern.
My lips move, as if a part of your play.
My thoughts, seemingly adjacent to yours capture fleeting moments of your attention, elusive as it is.
You, so focused. You, so certain.
I feel loneliest here, with my thoughts, the unseen appendage;
Thoughts, as a phantom limb.