It was never one of us but
once all of them were phenoms, the good ones
of blond-ed hairs and blu-ed eyes
lacy ankle socks and mary janes
and then the rest of us, the ones you never saw
or if you did
planned out our lives according to the ones we had
our own childishness hiding the missing -- what of it?
We are a dangerous species
no safe place for our love to flow.
There was never need of love,
to become embroiled without fear of pain.
Anatomy never a friend, yours or mine.
THe telepathy of words, the sounds they make unsopoken
Aware consience brings only conflict
There is no personal philosophy but narcissim
Everyone had a roommate but us.
To be alone, kept alone, is key.
One alone will never be believed
so much the easier for what it was
Yet we stayed
Were we waiting for them to show us our ends or did we never care?
did we never matter
so much as that?
What we do with what we’ve killed
4 hours ago