Gunslinger, you riddled
my story with bullet holes,
you made the mask slip.
Know my story, know my role,
just please reinforce my bullshit.
Just a narrative in my mind.
Absorbent fiction you defied.
We’re both locked and loaded.
Keep your caricature of me to yourself,
feed your script to the flames.
I’m hypnotized my own lies
and you keep breaking my spell.
I am this, goddamn it.
I am not that.
I think I’m on solid ground
only to find I have been falling all along
through the tactless revelations
of just another one of life’s vicious hecklers.
Feels as if I lose myself, my world, my life,
as you dare to contradict,
as you are anything but faithful
to my manuscript.
How dare you invalidate conclusions
that took so much blood, sweat and tears
for me to seek out, reach out,
hold onto in trust.
Soon I smell our mutual bullshit.
If an accurate outlook
can only come from the outside looking in,
as implied in the conviction
with which you tell me about me,
then how can you be so confident
that you are not blind to your own blinders as well,
and so a total stranger to yourself,
the target of your own
Go ahead, take the wind out of my sails,
means nothing if I lost course a long time ago.
Already dropped anchor here,
busy circling nothing in particular
like a buzzard spinning
over a carcass mirage, anyway.
Like you, I mistake perception for reality.
I mistake my reflection for myself
My moods are the state of the universe.
Every assaulting thought in my head
must be accurate.
We are not who we think we are.
We are not who others thinks we are.
We are who we are,
blind, colliding, pointing fingers,
taking naive, faithful
shots in the dark.