blindness

you are the nonsensical part of me

trying to shut you down, I only give you what you need

for my destruction

 

it only makes it burn brighter

 

you can be my friend, weaving lamentations

talking nonsense in the evening going insane with reality

as we retreat in our fortress behind the veil, writhing

each in our separate prison, bridged by the illusion of mutual understanding

 

and you can be my enemy, crazy with nerves

as i try to deconstruct you, cause and effect decision and consequence

while you only retreat further in maddening silence

hating you is the first game i ever played

 

but most of all, i wish you were

under my fingertips, where i can shield you

and take you apart with the same slide of dry thumb

on the mapping of your veins

 

i want to be a ghost to the places you have been,

holding your hand with transparent precision

i want to be the comfort you cannot give me

and the thoughts you write down so no one can see,

teach you the things i don’t know and

bring you down to your simplest form until you are humble enough to rise

 

i want to give you strength by surrendering,

roaming the erratic patterns of your dance

and following your footsteps to desecrate convention,

drunk with all the things you give without intention

 

my hands would wander through your hair

and fail to find any semblance of normality,

and all the things i want to do to you

would collapse into a string of hopeless probability

 

blinded, i would fall to the anchor you throw

 

i have never wanted anything so much before,

a passenger to the chain of your charm

ecstatic witness to the echoes of your mind

 

whose best hope of expressing it is stopping the moment

and looking at you like you were new,

pointless attempt at playing the game you are winning

already wearing your crown of aimless resentment

as we spin down and further down,

separate

 

the times i have surrendered have wasted away, dissipated

into the volatile air of your mind,

words that you cannot remember

told with the desperate fever of the terminally ill

 

deaf to yourself, you cut out any reflection from outside

 

blind to myself, i keep trying

barren attempts to weave myself into the pattern of your delirium

learn the steps of your unearthly choreography

 

if i turn twenty-one still being a disaster

i would rather be a disaster with you

Reviews

[arqios]

A moving pleasure to read, ☺tfs

[astraladvocate]

thank you!:)