I saw Madison again today. I did not smile. I never intend to.

* * *

I’m feeling slightly wounded, won’t you kiss it better? She’s got the wrong girl…

* * *

Poignant Myrmidon, I laugh at you as you smile and say “Hey,” & it’s funny because I don’t recall us ever being friends. (I always pretended you did not exist when you said hello, was that new for you?) You, a servile sycophant; short skirts make your counterfeit smiles- your semisynthetic self. You’re an oxymoron waiting to be deciphered; but perhaps you will never be a break through. Crystalline eyes shut never bothered anyone. Who are you smiling for; it’s not for my benefit, is it?

I’m ignoring you; I’m aloof and cantankerous, so who, my dear, are you smiling for? You worry me more than the fact that he has made me blind to else; than the fact he is my only analgesia, my only anesthesia. (My obsession has taken possession of this unholy disillusioned body; my infatuation)

* * *

It’s come to this, to days where I’m living for you & nothing more. (I’LL WRITE ABOUT HER BUT I’M REALLY THINKING OF YOU.) But I don’t mind. I used to live for nobody and that wasn’t living at all. I want so many things, can I have them? Promise me, promise me you’ll never let me go?

* * *

I would rather look thanatoid than be her. Never have I been more thankful to be in this skin. Of course, I could just be lying to myself. It would not be far from usual.

* * *

Madison? Who is this Madison, Deena, that you speak of?

Sssh, sssh, she’s nobody, she’s nobody, I promise you.

Do you swear? Do you swear?

No, no I do not. She could be someday someday. To someone. She probably is now. But not to me.

Does she think she’s somebody, Deena?

Yes, yes she does.

She’s one of them, isn’t she? She’s in the majority, the type that have fall into themselves, into their own selfishness and conceit. The type that wants to see something but sees nothing.

I don’t know if she even wants to see, my dear.

Does she have eyes?

No, I don’t think she does…

* * *

You worry me more than the thought that I may be diseased with nymphomania; (god, just one single word brings forth fireworks) or the fact that someday I may fall into an endless oblivion. No, because even if I do fall, I shall stand, I shall find my way out of my nonrotating-black hole (Haven’t I told you before? This girl is a magnetar, constantly in motion, never falling…) but you, you shall forever be in the sky, light years away from any stand of hope. You kissed it all away, and left the ashes for your minions (who of course are not really yours, you just think they are; that’s how programmed you are) to dust away.

I can’t even wish on you, which makes you even more insignificant and devoid of worth. But, you are in the ever glowing phantasmal sky, alas, isn’t that what you wanted? To be high above all of us? But you wouldn’t even know that you should be crying, would you? No, you wouldn’t.

* * *

I hear her say, “I CAN’T ESCAPE YOUR ENERGY,” but oh, oh yes you can…I know I can.

(My veins tell me so, you tell me so. Watch as I rise above.)

Because even with my paradoxical nature, I am above you. I do, I do believe so.

* * *

“You’re so conceited,” you smirk.

“No, no, not really.” I am just a paradox.