Empty conversations are what my life consists of bleak and meaningless exchanges right only in the sense of what my actions have caused

I do not blame him for the most part
I would weave threads of "logic" complacency by nodding my head and saying what was expected
Still do

How was he supposed to know all those years ago
That when i told him i heard voices
It wasn't a lie

How does he know i want to die
I have always been a great story teller
My Creations were creative and realistic always believable
I thought i was weaving s safety net

As it turns out i was only building a dam
A leaky one at that
Constructed not to keep things out as i originally surmised but to keep all that **** in

Black light as i see it and as i mean it
Is one just as convoluted as yourself
It doesn't bring anything from darkness it only reveals silhouettes
And blends the rest together
...
I have no idea what im getting at