Care

Was it your aim? To take my mind, make me less than you could imagine?

When did you decide to steal my worth and take away my meaning of freedom?

Where were you before you saw a victim to abuse and us and accuse of doing

imagined slights and things against your tethers reach tied so closely to your post?

All consumed in indecision and confusions, born of your delusions and your own paranoia.

Drugs foul cures of no efficacy, healing little cracks where cavernous gulfs span the life you allow.

The vengeances you vow. Curses you expound with evidences of wrongs and faults and all the miseries vaulted up. Inputs of self loathing, me, making you controlling, no thought for tolls you extract and charges you exact upon my person.

The nothing that is now my meaning and seeming ideal.

An image concealed behind furrowed brows that wonder when you?, no we, fell off the trail of was a rail for balancing along?

The tightrope course so tort and under tensions pulling together that magnetism that pole of opposites exert for repelling. Forcing the triangle into circles far too small for hollows to hide in when feeling miserable about ourselves.

For I am sure that you could not be living a parade, no jamboree. The masked fiesta, hiding where the pain is coming from and where the spark has gone,

as you, the thief of many a piece of what I was and that which glittered as my magpies eye that roved and stole a flirting moments baited hook. I was landed in a net of many strands and many threads, a maze of yarns and stories

leading ever down an oubliette, a trap I entered into of volition without perceived need for shield nor buckler. For the armour of sentiment and faith in love, blindness, “childness”, needs and crutches, shoulders for the leaning, the

support alluded to when, glances once connected to the flame of attraction and distracted actions of a self sacrificed, fell into you.

Adulation toward a wall that is no wall at all but rather a dark terminus where busses leave at dead of night towards refuges a ticket away.

We scrabble for the piece and scraps we need and so deserve for every second served to pleasure curses and demeaning positions on the floor, as you step over any part of me that I might carelessly leave laying.

For me is it that you care?