the quality of the emptiness you bring me is so real, so fine. just for me. you turn my nights into days, lay awake on my chest, like child we bore. together.
likewise, you ride the wave, the crest. you, the lone ranger. not belonging to anyone. that’s your method, your secret. so you think. but, in the end, no one cares. they’ll let you alone. all of them.
and I, like the guy, in the wheelchair. going crazy. burning alive. so many mad dreams and hopes. but we can’t stand up. can’t get a response either. so we are bound down, seated,breathing, like you told us. like you tell everyone. wish I could.
and now my nights are days, and days are spent running, trying to hide. as are you, are you not? don’t I know you? aren’t you the one who is just like me? soul mate? but, you know, for us, our little secret, is that soul mate is a play on “cell mate.” because it is a prison. ours much grander, deeper, darker, than mine. but I love yours. would take it. would take the floor, you can have the cage, suspended. we could loo at one another, me up, you down. that’s good enough in the soul prison.
is it resentment? you don’t want a soul mate? someone who gets you? who gets it and loves it? loves you. that breaks up the monotony, the solitude, wherein the thoughts are so rich, dark, green, blue, amber, chartreuse, the gold in the lotus.
and so, my emptiness arrives, on time, each night. and I know you are in it. I know you.