You don't know this.

I was walking through my imagination today and I recognized you let your red coals smolder out. The leaves are changing, so is my motivation, and just feeling like a theatrical project. But who are you? I meet you in my dreams, my writing, my thoughts when I’m far from the real people. Like now, I cannot see you, I do not feel you, but I see you in everything I am. May be much bigger than that of the invention of washing machines, microwaves. Aesthetic impression is not my triumph and you, Blue flame of mine, aren’t a good example. Breathe, Hesitated Monster destroyer, you are wasted on Polish pints and the careful planning of a lost fetus. You are me, and you don’t know this.

You don't know how the corners of my mind crack instead of wear, allowing meaningless sentences to flit far from my split lips. Inhale. exhale. I wish I could spit just one word in your direction. one note in an opera to convey an SOS. A splinter in the splint of wood that keeps every one of them up, to help you out, just a little.

Break you down, start, start again. start and start and start until 7 continuous strings have held a baby from burning his fingers.

I'm not here to talk about my outer self.
my enviroment.
I'm here to talk about you. Your blue flame, or you lack of.
I was wrong about people like you.
things like you.
but then again,
you are me, and you don't know this.