Those Stickers Hurt...

Up. Down. Turned. Examined. Under intense observation, scrutiny morphs into a judgement posing as concern or curiosity; depending on the depth of woods said "observer" is stalking. The haze that this imagined projected dream produces is as freeing as it is lugubrious. I don't know what it is that you think you lost that you will reclaim in me. I am more hidden than you. It's a series of shards. A waning sleep that wants nothing more than secret light nestled in gray days to last. Not with you, but the one that's there to stay. That was never you and certainly the expectation that you house for its potential now, is futile. The best part, is that I never have to feel that static, anxious discord again. Not in this life. Still water in the cactus you emotionally devastating fascist.