concussed love of yours bringing you closer,
(n)ever-closer to the truth.

(and you won't have heard it from me, someone else,
please, anyone else, before i scream it to the clouds and commit social suicide,
give myself an aneurism, blood clot in my
brain, oh i hope so.)

kill myself, and with me, your fake love,
really fake love? what can you call that which
you don't see? i can't tell, i'm probably wrong,
probably a liar, et cetera, et cetera,
ad nauseum.

(they say i'm a fibber. what's the truth, to you?)

so for me will you smile, be happy, be
but a dream i dare to sleep perchance to have,
to be? should i even be here?
can i ask you that or
is this too much?

(and before i forget, i'm sorry,
so, so sorry about every word i've ever uttered,
said, or spoken,
i fear what mockingbirds fly and land
upon my windowsill, telling me stories of
she and you, your happy half-life,
and i cannot help but doubt it, and i cannot help but
feel that doubt oozing from the pores of
every word i speak, to you, of you
about you, so sorry, love,
i just might half-love you enough to
wreck you.

but it's for your own good, i promise,
trust me, if you feel so bold, or don't
so long as you're happy, free, happy,
and without this, me, weighing you down,
should you see it like i do and
should you desire it like i don't,
i'll flee, head for the hills, and
never return, with this noose i cannot tie
knots, forget me not, know this, only this
i cannot feel, but for you,
i cannot feel.)

here's hope that you'll learn
before it's too late,
before you can't be