Untitled 4

I ask you a question and see you empty, no one knows the answer when you ask why, I steal sanity into my euphoria. I call your name to search you in the darkest memory never forgotten but actuated like a word next to a wish or kiss that masters the minutes inside weird stories. I name the events and call them irony. I am an anonymous aspiration languishing away from memory of yes and no or some unrequited love evaporating like a finger into a figure culminating in a fantasy perforated by zero. My name never occurs in truth and argues for wisdom you refer to it as a said word lying with a meaning or some simplified tale terminating into untruth. You name me therefore you are. I listen therefore I am not. I wish my name was only curiosity and some question marks seen and feared and forgotten like in amnesia incurably insufficient.

Unless otherwise stated, the content of this page is licensed under Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 License