You're the look of contemplation,
A glance of what I yearn for,
My Sunday morning.
Internal dissonance
Creeping in slowly
Then all at
Once
I open up a window,
I let your light in.
But
You see my shadow,
And only say thanks.
I place you in infinite containers,
Unsure of whether I'm finding opposites
Or
Reflections
I imagine something positive happened
Between where you are
And where I desire to be
I can't remember
And here
You're in hell
Your words dissipate into my bad timing,
a concept now tangible,
You place a statue.
Are you happy?
Well, shouldn't I be?