with a smile aside
i tell you all but the finest of truths with only a stare and a sigh.
no one has ever known me,
and for that i thank the empty space that God might occupy in some other reality.
to get all tangled up in each other's messes;
like children caught under the stairs smashing frogs.
its all just a circle jerk of the infinite remorse that we find absent in such attempts at connection...
bonds yet to be broken,
support unshifted so far;
trust is the but the jester's last tale as he tumbles headfirst into the moat below.
love...
from every angle it is nothing,
even as it fights to convince us otherwise
with feelings, aspirations, contentments, prisms of primal priorities