I don't understand why it is you think I am blind,
and maybe it would be better if I just offed myself,
and maybe then you would like me more,
you know,
the way people only do when something is out of reach,
gone and in the past,
radical gestures tend to make lasting impressions,
at least until they wear off like everything else,
if you would just admit that you grew tired of me,
as everyone does,
then we could stop playing this game,
I need to go to the kitchen for a minute and open a bottle of vanilla extract,
it's the only thing that makes me feel better under these conditions,
and believe it or not,
it minimizes the rest of the fatigue up in here,
what with my synapses cracking in two,
and then exponentially for sport
sleep is dessert,
now a privilege and not a given,
and this is all because I refused to believe that I couldn't believe in you,
if I only had my sense of smell in tact,
I could have aligned myself with the smart people,
the ones who paid the piper very early on to have their innards removed,
so they would no longer recognized a gut feeling of sorts,
and then I could have handed you your walking papers,
because I could have smelled the smoke in the distance,
and seen the fire not long after
But maybe in that vain,
in my veins,
there's a will and a way about it,
about me---
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