I love you for your kindness first, then for the peace in your eyes. How could anyone as sure as you not be the one sent to save me? But save me from what? From doubt? From myself? You are God’s gift to me yet I can't help it sometimes I picture myself ten years down the line with you not caring and me destitute and homeless, living on the streets, alone.
When the transition comes I see it come and embrace it, picking up speed it screams over me like a snow white avalanche, a huge chemical ****** in my brain that cannot be stopped.
II. Manic phase-
Here I like to entertain myself with vain fantasies of sainthood. I’m standing and waving to the faithful in Piazza San Pietro, doing what’s necessary to secure my martyr’s destiny in the after life where I’ll have a place of honor in the great hall of God, and through a window in the floor I’ll be able to see my mourners filing past my gaudy reliquary, crossing themselves as they gaze through the philatory glass at the peaceful repose of my sequin studded bones.
*I have come to understand that this matter may never be settled. I’d truly give anything for you to have power enough to hold me in the middle, to hold me in the purple fog nothingness but I believe it tires you to prop up a puppet all day. You’d rather love me in each moment which is the truest love there is and that makes me the luckiest man on the face of the Earth.
Piazza San Pietro = St Peter's Square, the Vatican Reliquary = A shrine for the storing of religious artifacts, especially relating to saints Philatory = A box in a reliquary with a glass top or side for viewing the boxes contents
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