Wednesday, June 13, 2012
Recalling things that never even happened, story book living.
A quilt of everything and everyone I've ever encountered.
A mixmatched moment of things I've done and things I've seen.
Mouth concocting details of obscene things, all truth, all realities.
Adapting to the way things are, adapting to change?
A disconnected line between you and the events taking place.
Invited? Showing up anyways, leaving a few words and glances behind.
You can never be sure of how many people you eyes have met.
You aren't as alone as you feel.
They are watching you as much as you are watching them.
If your eyes left finger prints, I would be covered in them.
Can you taste me from that far away.
Stalking me with all you've got.
Inching forward to inch right back.
Speak a little louder, I want to recall the things you say.
Is this just a fable, all a lie?
A story of yours, or is this a story of mine.