I was never looking into you I was only pouring an image of myself onto your canvas Of course I didn’t know it was me looking into me this was the mirage of my desire always in the shape of a question mark and you a sweeping mystery oozing something toeing the peculiar line between *** and titanium (cold, edgy, sharp - trembling between pain and principle like blazer and tie or more like halfway-unbuttoned-shirt-and-slacks on-with-no-tie (it was like you were making an effort!))
It was *** but it also wasn’t *** (I am empty I am full)
I keep building up and up and up all these images in my Mind (which never shuts up) (a never-ending narrative She spins and spins and succumbs only in those rare and passing circumstances) constructing people like buildings only the scaffolding is imaginary and when the architecture folds in on itself soulless and my beloved figurines come toppling down on me why do I still get so surprised so stung so lonely in that hollow and distant way (like your Mind is echoing in on Itself)?
My Mind is like quicksand devouring streams of memory with ease forever unsatisfied and craving more of the same sharp edges and all praying for a satiation in some distant future She knows will never come
Only here in this tiny universe can I spell out anything resembling rationality from the mess and junk and tangled tendrils of my Mind Only here can I extract bits and pieces of thoughts and try to puzzle them together until they make sense until I can separate “Me” from “Reality"
And what doesn’t make sense what I need to understand is why I feel so beset with this heavy magnetism that overpowers me to the point of paralysis (with little to no room for breathing) and why it was you who pushed me into this feeling and you who is still pulling me along far past the threshold of my resistance and I am done and it stings