perhaps i know nothing
we are a many layered species. we are some of us filled with tears. some of us formed out of stone while the insides stir an unhappened thing. all of us reaching.
strange for the experienced to reiterate how limited perception is. she sits across from your own eyes at a table, and in her mind is the informer. while you see her interrogator undersides that fill your stomach with nervousness. the act of being a target causes the eyes to want to shut, the stomach to want hands pressed warm upon it, the space occupied to be dark and comely.
i am the patriarch turned little boy. rationale bent by the bow of an imagination. i cry when i am ripped open because when i am ripped open i am no more than a four year old holding an adult sized heartbeat, and exposed. i play classical and romantic thought games with the universe and when you cry, you are an upturned vault whose mechanism i will seek to understand but whose outsides are so traversal, delicate.
you are tears and soul seeking larger paths by which to exit your body, but there are few. i think this is why you must speak loudly, even in public. you who have so much inside of you. your heart must focus on its layers, while language translates to its upturned funnel and out the words come to meet my ear. how should you know whilst you are flooding emotionally that i have rationalized everything already?
we are layered. i want to be any layer at any given point in time. or all layers. or none. and i want you to be alright with that in the spaces we keep for ourselves.
strange for the experienced to reiterate how limited perception is. she sits across from your own eyes at a table, and in her mind is the informer. while you see her interrogator undersides that fill your stomach with nervousness. the act of being a target causes the eyes to want to shut, the stomach to want hands pressed warm upon it, the space occupied to be dark and comely.
i am the patriarch turned little boy. rationale bent by the bow of an imagination. i cry when i am ripped open because when i am ripped open i am no more than a four year old holding an adult sized heartbeat, and exposed. i play classical and romantic thought games with the universe and when you cry, you are an upturned vault whose mechanism i will seek to understand but whose outsides are so traversal, delicate.
you are tears and soul seeking larger paths by which to exit your body, but there are few. i think this is why you must speak loudly, even in public. you who have so much inside of you. your heart must focus on its layers, while language translates to its upturned funnel and out the words come to meet my ear. how should you know whilst you are flooding emotionally that i have rationalized everything already?
we are layered. i want to be any layer at any given point in time. or all layers. or none. and i want you to be alright with that in the spaces we keep for ourselves.