static talk

Am I understandable?
Are the words I Type so distinct?
Are the words I dare utter in your presence that audible,
even in the midst of chaotic chatter?
Do I actually have matter to my being?

Even trying to find the words
I'm wiped clean -no-
bare.
I am turned into a vast emptiness,
filled only by your presumptions,
however daring and niave,
bitterly true.

I find the desire
to touch you,
to feel what it must be like,
to walk in your skin,
and feel Alone.

And am I looking in a mirror?
Do I suffer this illness? This blessing?
This thing that makes me stand out?
This thing that makes you
untouchably, beggingly beautiful?

And I'm wiped bare again.
The vast array of darkness standing,
waiting,
for a star to show.

I don't know what possess' me,
to think they will shoot.
I don't know who bears me,
to stand my falling.
I can only wonder
if it will ever matter,
that my life went on
only noticed
by my
'distinct'
words.
for the
briefest
moment

on
a
page.

Where did I stand,
just now, in a sudden flash of light,
a tsunami of thought?
Where did I float from?
Did you bring me here,
or some other being?
Some thing that you've concocted,
something so real, I can feel it.

and I'm wiped bare,
before I can understand myself.
But it seems you already knew that.
You know me.
But I am alone.
and you
are alone.
In our company, the best there can be,
we are in other worlds.

How do I explain it.
I feel like I can see you whenever I please, and everything will fall into place.
But it doesn't.
and yet, somehow... it does?