Nothing is stable
I'm just waiting for everything to collapse around me
Or maybe morph into something unknown because
nothing feels real right now and
I'm not sure I believe in existence anymore

It's probably just an illusion and we've all
been playing into the hands of a higher
power's experiment.
We are the guinea pigs of life and I refuse to be a mere
scientific "what if".

Now everything shatters, I've broken the curse
of the glass house.
Tell big brother he's now an only child and I've killed his flies who just so happened to
fancy perching on my walls.

I've uncovered your veil of secrecy
And I intend to expose your lies.
Goodbye im off to a place composed of
realacy for ground and infinity for skies.
Don't forget the perpetual hope for humans that is found so very seldom here.

Oh, what a place.

We could be a famous romance, you know.
Writing the story together, it would be whatever comes after brilliant.
My metaphor, my metaphor please let down your guard
Write to me in your personal tongue
Scream at me on parchment
Let's be the vintage cliché we've always admired.

God, I love it when you talk poetry to me.

We wouldn't just burn bridges. We'd set the whole godammed world on fire with our writer's love shining in their eyes,
blinding them with the metaphorical questionings of two adolescent souls resonating in their skulls.
But God knows this world has aged us far beyond our literal years.

Write to me, love.

Poem for poem, line for stanza 'cause we both know you can convey a message on a fortune cookie and have it smack harder than I could with a 700 paged memoir of the broken.

Let's carve history with quills writing in our blood.
Our unlived story thrashing in its nonexistence dying to become reality

I can't read too much at once
I might just break under the pressure of keeping it together
Together for whom, I don't know.
The screen perhaps?

You convey your pain so vividly
That it literally makes me ache.
Cringing at the accuracy of your words,
Wincing at the connections I make between your art and your life.
It pains me to feel you in pain.

Maybe I just notice you too much but I know who
and what
and when you're talking about.
Her, mostly, but I try not to read those.

But the other creations are utterly beautiful
In a tragic sense, though I suppose art never comes from happiness.
But what is happiness without a little pain?
An illusion
And oh, my dear, you capture this concept like an animal entrapped in a snare.
You make your message *inescapable

It was kind of like you were injecting me with yourself
Except you keep missing the vein.

The bruises on my arms became the out-played artsy reminder of your actuality
Though you made sure that when the reminder faded and healed you were right there to bring me back into your world of needles and twisted gravity

What makes you think you can leave for weeks
You're standing near but you've never been further away from my desperate grasp

The withdrawal of you is excruciating
Like a recovering alcoholic in a liquor store except there's no automatic door or transparent window to reveal a salvation on the other side.

The only salvation is taking another hit of you
So, that is what I shall do
Until the day I overdose on your *intoxication .

There's shattered glass on the floor still
The spidery cracks running from where my fist collided with my reflections
How long have I been here?
How long have I been wasting away in this tainted wonderland?

Controlled freedoms oppress my mind
Which is banging on the inside on my skull, wild with a fury to escape

I can't be out of my mind when all my problems lie within it.
Social pressures mean nothing when you're at war with yourself.

It's not easy when the thoughts in your head become twisted and tangled like Christmas lights.
No matter how hard you try to keep them straight, year after year, you're stuck fighting.

I gave up God knows when, throwing the thoughts on the ground in defeat
Watching the colored light die out
I'd always preferred the darkness anyway.

But even with the numb, there is still one thought protruding in the abyss
A small flicker in the outlet.
It lives on, thriving in the emptyness.
It ***** you in, limb by limb, 'til you can no longer breathe.

But that's what you wanted in the first place, wasn't it? Not to breathe? Not to be alive?

           I wonder if you can see the suicidal in my eyes.

I sit around observing everyone carry on with their single-faceted lives.
How simple would it be to be only one person? Instead, I am left to deal with the repercussions of myselves.

    It's not my fault I'm different with every person, including myselves.

Or maybe it is. Maybe there's something wrong with your brains.

Perhaps, though whatever the reason, I believe we can all agree we are utterly mad
                                                       Agreed.

How funny it is to have someone deny a characteristic of my personality. For all they know, I could be everything they hate covered in a chrome mask reflecting everything they love.
It is of this I think when one expresses a liking toward me.
That affection is vain, they are admiring the qualities of themselves.
No one, not even I can see all my selves at one time. Some come along, new to my surprise
If I were to find a being who values things at more than, for lack of better word, "face value", then I may show them my selves and we would discover our selves together.

How odd would it be to look in a mirror.
     Oh now that is too many faces to look at
   Yes, but perhaps I would discover the gravity of it all - what's holding it together.
                     Enough of your nonsense!
                                Back to work, the lot of ya!