the spaces in-between

honestly sometimes I wonder-
who the fuck are these people?
and who the fuck am I?

These people that pass by, a slight brush of the hand and then forgotten,
erased from the arid mind like shifting sands..

I try to put myself together with pieces of other people,
jigsaw their lives to make mine whole... but there's so many gaps

and the spaces in between never get cleaned
dust collects in the grooves of my brain
as memories that'll never erase

the thought of my thought puts pressure on me
perspective weakens the direction
and they tell me it's all perception but what happen's when your eyes aren't so great?
20/20 vision is only in hindsight, you only can predict or admit once things pass by,
submit? I'll never do that..
As long as there's inclusion of you in this delusion, I'm fine with this imitative ruse of life..

who are you?
and who is me?
there's nothing left but the questions of what could become of me..
because us never happened and you don't seem to care for it much.
Is it because you have so much that I can't touch your life now?

do they ever think of me? our childhoods together, but now I'm just a picture in a book, a word on a page.. I want to change their lives.. but when, at what age?



I could be you if I wanted to,
bare it all, spread wide open, loved, double-clicked
but I'm not or I don't-- the question of worth comes to play and it makes me wonder,
feelings shaken, foundation uncertain in the face of, or the rear of, what they say is desired..
My mind is a flame, but it's my body under-fire  - increasingly, it's all about what they want to see.
What the eyes don't perceive cannot be.