as stated previously

a new sense of tired, of exhaustion, of supreme frustration, of disappointment

in you

in each of you


can't i even get the fucking idea across?
i don't exist. stop fucking knocking.
there is no door;
no house;
no address;
no city;
no address;
nothing.

but you're on the curb you imagine
tossing rocks towards the window
of the mirage that is "me,"
constructed by you and your need


if you didn't want me,
you'd have me.

if you didn't want me,
i'd have you.

you motherfuckers


i do exist.
have a seat.



the "me" you see will not be
never was
but in your mind


Me that Is
is you
already

realize that,
please?


so i can stop being to you
"that"

- an echo of your desire,
rebounding off of the Truth that Is Me
that you fail to see
amidst the composite -

and become to Me This
where "we" can be Me


and admit it

I AM the void
i am what you see

I AM nothing
stop creating me

asshole

and i understand
because
when i'm not here,
consternated
i'm there,
gazing at "you"
longing
as you gaze at "me"