Condensation fogs my quarter window
and as my other self becomes concealed
behind my cloud of warmed breath
I fabricate a tale
that I am the imagination
of my own reflection.

Amidst the fire's crackle
the wood pops
and black smoke rises coating my chimney's
inner side. I stare into its blue core
and see the elemental force burn
intense!
then die out....

Who then is real
what if I am my own reflection
a thought living inside a mind
planning out my day
while she lives her own life.

How can we really know if we exist
if we never truly know that we're awake
Are we dreaming, or are we the dream?

Think!

What if I asked you
entreated you into ending me.
My fingers click against
sweat stained keys,
my eyes strain against the florescent lights of
my computer screen,
my ears vibrate with the sounds of laughter penetrating the empty
dead space of my closed room.
I don't want to continue like this.
My life is walking
with wearied feet sinking
deeper
and deeper still
in the mud of desperation.
My toes crack
my ankles creak from the stiff cold
as I rotate their joints.
I'm becoming tired,
as the night progresses
I wish often than cautiousness allows
that I
would sleep and not wake.

When it come
it crashes
it cripples me
and I become weak.
I cannot step through the veil of disgust
nor can I scream
to shatter the illusion
cast so deeply from years of your
abuse.
So I grow
and despair
and hope
that no one knows of my
struggle.

Shadows cast our images against this wall.
Winds howl sending ripples through our other selves
"Can we have inverted selves?" you ask me.

I kiss your lips in reply
what answer can I give
to make you understand?

You are my moon in which all is
illuminated through this dark night
again
a
kiss.
I wish to always think of you and I...

The nightfall settles
and all we hear are
owls
hooting their song
each rustic note floating
transparent from your rays of soft pale light
till they rest
gently
tenderly
till morning disperses its atoms
like the morning dew.

But I digress,
where was I?
Ah, you and I.

Criss cross applesauce
we sit without a care
your fingers smell of cookies
though your hands have played in dirt
i think of you this day
as it pours His chilling rain
and wonder when the sun will show
so we can meet again

Lost
is floating about
a world lost to me.
My brain has unraveled
each wrinkle smoothed out,
until pink tubes dribble from my ear.
My lobotomy is complete, an empty shell
looking through eyes hollowed out by an endless
monotony.

Anger bubbles
like a stream
it hisses
whispers planted like an infectious sore
within the depths of your
Amygdala.