Feelings come and go in irregular patterns.
It's always most joyous.
When I have my flat affect.
Something very hard.
To read into.
Some very cold fish.

What happens for you.
When you scream at the impossible.
Thinking it wants to listen.

It just goes.
About its day.
Motivated by its own mundane meaning.
Devoid of feelings.

Cold.
Stark.
Barren.
Inert.

I thought that.
Maybe.
I'd connected again.
To something greater that's outside myself who's existence was so poignant that I stopped for one moment to appreciate an honest true feeling or original thought that advanced both our understanding of ourselves through our shared humanity.
But,
You just wanted to **** me.

I would rage against that inferno.
As though I'd carve my name on destiny.
Something, permanent in a see of has beens.


But, I don't.
I just, get ****** up.
Everyone loves an underdog.
Set against infinity.

The dreams I dream.
Dwarf my hyperbole.
In the absurd.