Hypnosis

galaxies stretch across my subconscious.
they alight with fire and ice
and I note them over time;
over years and over memories.
there are things I cannot remember anymore:
things you recall somehow,
and sometimes I think I know nothing at all.

it is so wrong of me
to think that you turn in the opposite direction,
away from any destination-
the direction that happens to be
a vertex of my own abode?
sometimes I think
I am too selfish, I am
too spoiled, too naïve,
because I sure don't know everything.

when I place my hand against the glass
I wonder if you mirror me.
the panes are fogged, and hell if I can tell
what goes on past this wall.

I can feel
the throb of my pulse
as I reiterate
things I won't say
aloud from the pathways of my mind.

I reread
words written
and I recite
quotes I've found and things I hide.

no longer can I tell
what is real
and what I left in the past.
I keep hearing voices in my head-
is it just me, or is it you? who knows.
besides,
do we really even know ourselves?

Author's Note

I don't know what to comment here...other than I like the title, and this poem's made up of small things that I had to fit together. also, it's rather long, which I don't like too much, but it wasn't finished in a shorter, choppier version.
http://xhipz.deviantart.com/art/Bridge-343846425 pic by xhips on deviantart