i am terrified of the things you come up with when your alone.

            your sweet words fool everyone around you

you remember your first love like it just happened yesterday

        and i remember the look in your eyes when you told me about it like its my only memory i have left to hang on too of you

         maybe someday you'll understand why im so afraid of you
        
                 its not your actions,
     its not being afraid that you don't love me to the extent that i love you, or even the way you say my name like its the last thing that you have to save you;
from yourself

          a comparison of those things would be quite unrational in all actuality

                 what am i scared of?
         im so scared,
so deathly afraid,

                              of your mind.

    of the way your eyes shimmer in the darkness.

       ive never been so speechless because of a person.

     never so embarrassingly speechless

               about a persons drowning midnight blues,

        or the way someones lines in their hand connect on the right side perfectly coming to a cease beside
their black painted fingernail

            or so in love with one single freckle that rests right in the middle of someones
rosy left cheek

   never in my life have i ever been so petrified of a single
tear drop
escaping someones so heartbroken,
but yet so lovely sea colored eyes

        and never had i moved as fast as i did,
when i lifted my shaking hand to your face to wipe away that trace of sadness that knocked all of the breath out of my body

im scared not because its no longer about me,

         im scared because your the first thing that has ever made it no longer about me

Strangers parade all around in their undying masks of hidden souls carrying on with their secret souls, not seeing who any one can really be.
They move so shadowed their figures distort in bluring mimic of blind movements, so cloaked and over bearing the shadows presense, they blend to be one emassive culmenation of hidden secrets the world hides them before they themselves can.
The distortions, so blindly obscure by their unrational wits, writh as their unbearablely clandestine futures draw closer to an edged madness as their undying silence takes over.
Their black fates are met with a silent nothing which destroys all fact, all fiction, and all reality.