Absent, Without Leaving. in And The Rest.

Sometimes I think transparency is slowly subtly stealing me, a silent strident thievery, to reveal invisibility, fading to obscurity; replacing, defacing, displacing: erasing.

I no longer trust the truth of touch, collecting, correcting, resurrecting; contract from contact and recoil from recall; leave no trace at all, no evidence of permanence, my fingerprints could simply sink through surfaces: invisible ink. I drift untethered, float forever, a haze of whispers hung together, strung like feathers, soft-spoken murmurs left unsung, I’ve come undone, untied, unspun: I am no-one.

The more that I question the more is unasked, though I’m drifting too slowly I’m reaching too fast; can’t envisage a future nor relive the past, I’m unheard in the chorus, can’t place my face in this cast of a thousand blank masks.

Empty-plastic rolling eyes, empty plastic-soul disguise, replayed again without surprise, a tired reprise; sunset, sunrise, they’re all the same, this endless game; recurrent revolutions without resolution, the world always turning, the thoughts always churning, the soul ever yearning, horizons still burning. Cover me, smother me, build yet another me, what is recovery when truth is elusive and silence effusive; so slippery, oily, illusive, reclusive.

Frenetic kinetic energy, I move too quickly to solidify into a single hardened lie; faithless-dancing, shifting eyes, evasively unverified, scattered, shattered, soon denied, just ashes on a burning tide. Desolate, disparate, desperate; do flames in flux illuminate- or eviscerate, incinerate- perhaps I can evaporate, in the heat of deep internal hate.

I’m only what you make of me, a web of complex fakery, redacted, enacted, socially contracted; this fractured foundation holds no correlation to the reality I think is me- whoever that may really be- I’m variations on stagnation, creation or repatriation, a contemplation of ruination, a constant constrained conflagration. I’m a chocolate box of vacant smiles; a repeated deceit in dull-sequin cover, dressed up as another, disguised as a lover: caress me, repress me, attempt to redress me- expressed as a shallow charade of the best me.

Taken apart I’m a stained-glass heart, pieces and panels in a patchwork of scars; a lantern patterned in harlequin, a polychrome shell with no light from within, a papier-mache mannequin: newsprint and paste, a recycled waste, scissor-snipped letters of ransom-note Scrabble; hoping or coping or coming unravelled.

Slither back with swift viscosity, this is terminal velocity in becoming this monstrosity; this bloated, swollen, soulless being that no-one else admits to seeing: distending, dissenting, no longer consenting, the boundaries bending, it’s too hard reinventing, I’m sick of pretending; when all that I want is the truth of an ending.