There are so many layers to you so many sides



All the pieces that make up who you are somehow do not yet understand that they serve a single entity.

Twist and tug, each wanting to outdo the other, wrestling for control

Is that what it's about

Is this what the tears and the poems and the drugs and the friends are supposed to do? Give you control?

Rearrange the chaotic chips and shards and edges into something crystalline malleable only by your desire?

Were I to visit you in a dream
you might not be afraid
and we might be able to see all this
and smile about it
and slowly bring it all together and
light would bow before your fancies knowing at last something
greater then itself

But your dreams I cannot visit and these things I cannot know

I see you in hyperbursts of inspiration so fleeting I know of them only in memories and tears I cannot otherwise explain

Is this how you know yourself? Could it be that from your vantage point the absolute intimacy serves only to overwhelm? Perhaps we should trade places for a time and share newly whispered secrets. Would we understand together, or would we lose ourselves in the beauty?

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