Your signals are crossed
Whatever the plot was, you lost it
It’s somewhere between Paranoid Blvd
And Schizophrenic street,
Surely you have meds and I ponder -

Do you take them?

A simple look at the evident
And it is obvious you’ve skipped dosages
Flirtations in my inbox,
Associating imaginary coos from pieces -
You glue as being about…you.

A scornful moment later,
When you realize the sky is blue
And I’m not that into you,
There devises your next ruse
“OF COURSE” you pontificate
“YOU MUST BE PAUL,” you tell yourself

My DM’s go ablaze
With accusatory splendor:

“Not sure of your game, and really don't care. It's a shame; enjoy your time with the flying monkey (s) that circle Paul (Mister Truth), the narcissist predator, Ryan's new bestie.”

A litany of accounts,
Message, delete, repeat
Collect a few followers,
Post a few pieces hoping to bait your prey
And at the end of the day, you return -

And even in a poem, though I can’t see
Since you’ve blocked ; I can quote from my inbox:

“naǧí › Haunting In a Dream Paul. How many accounts do you have?”

See, I am and have only ever been me,
My name is clear as day,
And clearer still are the words I display
My motives, pure, and simple
As is my desire to write pieces and connect with artists,
I’m not Paul nor do I care who he is,
Chase your white whale, but please,
Take your medication, seek meditation
Find a means of salvation,
Mental illness is real and it can eat you alive,
I suggest that you at the very least try.