Six Words

Deconstruct. Shelf-life. Wood. Flood. Screen. Thirst.

I look inwards, deconstructing myself.  I look for motivations and imaginations of myself the way I should be.  Trying to see things clearly but these visions have a limited shelf-life.  Conflicting thinky thoughts take over.  I find myself beside myself.  Two beings.  Two stirrings.  Two desires for completely the opposite of things.

And then you kiss me and I feel wood.  It’s a plank across the forehead.  Dizzy spells.  Shaky knees.  Wood.  I breathe you in deeply and suffocate the me I was before.  Virtuous me drowns like a phantom memory.  Like something that didn’t really exist anyway.

And then I get to wondering, with all that flood of fantasy, excitement and dreams – was it really you?  Was that really me?

I look in the mirror for the truth into things.  Screen.  Opaque screen.  Nothing reflects back and I remember truth is merely a belief about certain kinds of facts.  Live half my life behind that screen.  I watch you undress behind that self same screen.

I close my eyes and I see you in dreams – but not those kind of dreams.  You’re wearing a Viking hat and riding a bicycle passed my street.  No acknowledgment from you that I’m even there.  It’s all pretty surreal and I get the thought in my mind that it’s all pretty surreal even at the most conscious of times.

With that, I figure so much of my conflict comes from imaginations of my own construction – and I simply thirst for more.

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