If everyone seen you like you seen yourself...would they also like the lie --you like to tell?
I am lost in translation, in interrogation, in the soft white fabric that flows in the breeze. How easy it would be to close the book, to resist the last chapter in it's bound pages that is my being. For who would want to read it? A droll tale of nothingness, a fluid representation that is my life, as quickly as a stream it flows past you, and you never glance at that one ripple that is mine, never glance upon what rocks it may disturb, or touch. Unless I move a mountain, my ripple is dissipated in the body of the ocean. I take my rightful place, dissolving into the waves, marching onto the beach, moving a shell of a former soul, carrying a stranger home or an adventurer to a strange land. I revel in my insignificant self. I am no one, and nothing, and should I chose to, without entangling my web to weave in your tapestry, you should never know me, and be satisfied of that.
How can you say you know me, when my name never crossed your lips, slid off your deceitful tongue? The taste of familiar vocal emotions do not interest me, for yours are lies. How do you know where I slept the night before??? I wasn't in your arms! I wasn't in your dreams! So now, what say you to that?! The fool is foolish, but the liar be the cursed and wretched! So now, my ebb is retreating----back. Back to the beginning, the origin, and once again I do not cause waves, for I am one. A complete entity within the whole. And should I caress your pale, pathetic skin in the depths of MY ocean, I shall pull you down to me, in the undertow, and there you shall perish by my hand.