Her love
Was conditional.
That the false self she created
Become my true self
And depended on me never straying
From the beautiful nothings
and my place
In the universe
I wrote in a feverish vision quest
Of a
Telegram from points of no return.
The authentic updates on the general state
Of Nolan's psyche mid collapse.

And even I can't keep up
With the fiction I write,
Even though it was genuine,
At the time.

I kept those voluminous emails
Where I spilt my heart out
To another person,|
Shared all those soft bits wolves can enter the
Carcass through.

But, I won't read them.

We mediate the self
With who we think we need to be
To avoid the embarrassment
Of being real
And misunderstood.

Your real weakness isn't who you aren't
But who you can't help but be.

She let that me,
That truthful barren
Naked prostrate me,
Edify
Into a God and she wrote the scripture
With everything we said we'd do.

Everything I forgot.

She spins lies
Tho,
Told me she always loved me
And it was obvious.

That she couldn't handle another
Five years of silence.

Then she left one day
With no warning,
Saying I was different.

I never changed,
I just don't get my hopes up
And understand no one really
Loves me.

They love who they
Want me to be.

I am the untranslatability
Of my mind to
Form.

I discard those people who
Leave at the first
Sign of a storm,
Fair weather friends,
Lost in a funnel cloud
Sent to Oz,
Never to stick around.

It's not that I don't give
Them a chance,
Or don't empathize with them.

It's just the hole from thinking
I belong
And
The disappointment that I don't
Was so corrosive
I learned to blunt the impact
of the loss of you
on me.

I accept every burnt bridge
With a friend on it as a
Matter
Of due
Course.

So,
I don't get invested
In anyone.

Don't
Bond.

It's less uncomfortable to be callous
Then always being disappointed
And wrong that no,
Once again,
You got your hopes up.

You wrote them a beautiful
Story in this delusion
Of hope.

And hope often times
Turn into despair as the object of its
Affection
Turns into calamity and hope becomes
Emotional damage.

But, all this too passes into something else.

Leaves in autumn prophecy
The cold.

And there's always an absence
Of comrades,
Of fitting in,
Of normal social interaction.

So,
Why is casting off of the taboos
Of other people and their
Unreliable nature,
Such a bad thing?

Philosophers used to write volumes
About controlling your emotions and
Maintaining distance
From unreliable variables.

I have become no man,
By being around no one,
A stranger, in a strange,
Land.