Everybody thinks they're the only one.

 

No one ever thought to ask, did they?

No one ever thought to say.

Thought we'd drown this if we could. We couldn't, could we?

But that's us. What're we meant to do?

Say, you say. You don't say. I won't say.

I think nobody wants me to. Drown it.

It's all too scary, how we're so perfectly similar.

You laugh like it really worked.

 

Don't think I don't know better

Don't think I'm not shocked to the brink of the red behind my eyelids

When you say something that's what I wanted to say.

So what if after the words are snatched from cold-blooded blue lips,

I have nothing? Yes, yes, there is a trace

Of mindset blood when you hand over your philosophies and I shame them with mine.

It's the confession ideals again, only fiercer.

I've broken both my arms against my own back because I am proud.

What's the use of a poet with an impossibly broken question?

A poet who writes poems--by definition--and not poetry--by beauty?

And I've never said, just like I said. I can keep promises

When I want to. We disapprove of horses but

We may be riding high on our uncertainty.

I'll never find another like you:

Better take advantage. It's one of those occasions

When prizes just float into my hands.

Can't I be a spinster with words while you keep me occupied?

I'm sure it's fine. I'm sure it's worth it. I've had my first dream.

It's even disappointing when the thrill evaporates on contact.

I've been warned against it, told to lose touch over and over.

Not by other people, conformer! Ancient history is brand new material.

I've never heard of such a thing as a cast that fits the original.

What plaster are we? We are so extreme we are magical.

 

Sure she needs you.

She has nothing else! One can't live on metaphors alone!

Alright. But almost.

Prize specimens always find each other eventually.

Prize specimens always play at putting flair and latin in their sentences and

Prize specimens always pretend they understand it all.

But she's begun to notice things.

You don't know everything.

It all has its advantages. Everyone thinks they're the only one.

So be it. She will use that to her own.

She knows, she must, musn't she?

Slaves! Remember that? What's history for if else!

I never learn, do I? (Oh, nobody does.)

Slaves.

She bites down and hopes she is never armed, for fear.

You don't acknowledge it. You stand, not solemn enough for the moment.

It's not absolutely the case. But how much closer can you get?

What would that make us?

I know you until I can pick you apart, or close to that

With my fingertips because I don't have claws like most people.

I've begun to notice things.