can you hear me, so far away? can you hear my whines, dressed as dreams? can you hear how desperate i am to hear you, just for a little while?
maybe it's my fault, i'm making it hard for you, aren't i? everyone else here is so easy to play with, so eager to approach and do little tricks for you, you can't help yourself. i'm obtuse by comparison, communicating in poetry and idiosyncrasies. from your perspective it must seem like i'm all bark and no bite, but i'd rather go hoarse than suffer the indignity of humping your leg in public.
there it is, the face you make when i say something that reveals how truly fragile the paranoia makes me. don't act like you're shocked when i tell you i've made my peace with it, isn't that what you like about me? that i care about things nobody else does? that i don't settle for facsimiles? that i kept my passion pure and my expression unsullied? that i hold myself to a higher standard, even if you won't?
i dream of you in ways they couldn't imagine, your voice haunts my ears in ways you wouldn't believe. this forest offers no remedies, only painkillers; little pills pressed with words i've never heard, laced with empty promises. empty for me, anyway, i'm sure they carry weight in the hands of others. maybe that's why you don't give them to me: you can tell from a distance that it wouldn't be enough.



















