the things you look for
cannot be found
in my shadowy lips.
my secrets are not hidden in
the crevices of my
skin.

my breath quakes
as it tries to force itself
down my throat
and i do not have the lung capacity
to whisper platitudes
into your neck.

the link between creativity and
pain
is one that i tried
so fervently to sever.
no one had to tell me
that there would be
no fruition.

(if knowledge were strength
i would have carried
you all
on my back.)

my depth perception varies
day to day
and the idea that
everything extends
endlessly
inwards and out
reminds me that we were
never meant to
understand.

(all things are true
if enough people
believe in them.)

i was never the real thing.

but then
neither were you.