You yelled at me.

I was wearing a dry cloak of humour
made from ideations,
as I sat there,
assaulted, by you, my best friend.

Angry at me.

Publications, College acceptations.
Things you had worked hard for,
that had just fallen into my lap.

Perhaps it was your jealousy, or the realisation,
that having me as a friend was not such a good friend to have at all, that finally sent you off the edge.

Falling with water piling into pools in your palms.
I didn't mean to upset you.
You struggle too, I know that.
But I need to feel free.

please,
tell me what I can do?

Tell me what I can do?

Tell me what I can do.

Don't get angry.

Illusions they keep most of us going,
day after day,
year after year,
job after job.

I'm sorry I attacked yours, an absence of a deity,
leaving you grasping
onto just the possibility of meaning
any at all.

I didn't know

I didn't realise it meant so much to you.
To who you define yourself to be.

You asked me to change myself, before I moved to your college,
because I was too confronting in my beliefs on death and other topics.
(even though those words had only ever passed between our lips).
I would have to change you said,
or people who knew me,
may not know anyone at all.

Well, if that's the case.
If I have to change.
Because you believe no one could ever truly accept me.
As I am.
I'd rather not be here at all.

It's a convoluted joke isn't it?

Scattered over our lives with a delicate Orwellian touch.

Every day I feel it.

Every, single, day.

I really do.

But, let's be honest for a minute.
Leave bliss and ignorance at the door.

We all get cold with time.
We all get cold with time.
We all get cold with time.