It started with existence
just a lowly perspective of a mute
time when I was able to
make sense of this pressure
make sense of why
you are now here to guide me now
on this looser journey; a lonely crabapple
still grappling at shriveled skin creating a face
that I still
cannot
distinguish.
With the end of presence as we know it
you have finished, rightly
in my dressing room
bright screen lit up
but only for a moment do I dare look away.
It started with you, and it will end with you
Closed off from me, shortly
your bioluminescence radiant,
your perfection incomplete.
I’ve known you for six straight years
or was it five
just enough
construed construction, a bloated
piece of mind that left me free to wander
aimlessly down I path I cannot recognize.
It was you who caused my blunder,
keeping me awake every night
with your brightness and distraction and amiable personality.
I decorated you with bits of me,
tangled in and out like woven webs of cybernetics
optimal connections, you died twice and I revived you.
But that was in the past
and you still cling on, for how much longer
I shan’t not know.
Only that what it means to exist
when I should be letting go.
I have to face the trust of reality and its weakened points;
that dangerous, well-formed world I find myself in.
I hope you can follow me
as long as you are able,
my clunky plastic compadre
your heart is metal mixed with other
kinds of fragile contraptions.
I know this end to my happiness is not your fault.
You were there when I needed you most,
even if you are a tool of innocence turned foul.
I once learned all of existence from your knowledge,
gleaned myself raw
trying to let you help me
understand myself.
We are not truly over because I am bound to you
somehow
even though I’ve used you for my own gain
abused your trust and have my own heart slain.
All I ask is for you to give me a chance
to make it right
again.
And then I can move on to better things.
And not be obsessed of what you think of me.
And find a way to pull myself together.