I see what I see
for I was made to be this.
9th floor, crumbled, shattered,
cut off of my own skin,
drugged at times,
a symphony of tragic moments,
the highest place I’ve ever visited…
not the altitude,
the deafness in my ears,
but the elevation,
the possibility of tasting
pretending at claiming…
in the sincerity of fake muses,
fake philosophies that exist only because language allows them to.
for which you will need
to be understood;
not necessarily a brain,
just information upon information upon information upon information…
and memory space to hold onto them.
I’ve seen from the window
where my being resides
and saw nothing!
just silhouettes, shadows, mirages…
a trick or two.
but never a thing that seemed as it seemed;
nothing that made sense for more than a glimpse
of what a human being would call a lifetime…
then I was tricked, again!
just as it happened time and time before
and time and time
but I happen to love magic shows,
and the dreams where we’re immortal.