a fling of paranoia.
will blur with time.
it will no longer linger in memory.
there is no value in it.
so just let it go.
you say it
with much ease as if
there were...
no desires.
no thoughts.
no emotions.
no talks.
all a nicely stitched
fabrication of a facade.
no intimacy.
no care.
no understanding.
no feelings.
all a routine casualty
of mechanic proportions.
the floor, i deny not once
but twice and now,
you close the door.
outside i'm standing. and
these knocks, you neglect to
acknowledge.
let's not let the story fade
into a distance of
unparalleled paranoia.
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