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.