Narcissists In Love

sometimes when i get tired of talking to myself and all the parts --out there somewhere: i take the mirror from its place and write on the wall behind us. when i get angry at the telephone because it won't talk, i throw it behind us, too.-- there are more holes than there are words. and i can't get sentimental about the cracks. any time i want, i can tear the wall down; but so far, there's been nothing but the wall between us for me to write my words on. --so you think it's the only thing that keeps me talking. that i see nothing but the desired object; that i desire nothing beyond the thin reflection of myself covering the smooth distance, and soft holes i'm not allowed to get sentimental about. but i won't get mental either. i have my thoughts, everyone has thoughts. i'm looking for something with more substance, than mere images and words. more thoughts than to slide on and off the wall. leaving nothing but raw traces of my love held up by your protection from the birth of a separate object between us. with nothing but dancing by the bed, and tortured knife pokes in the mattress.-- we're both narcissists in love. you think with nothing between our hopeful touch that one of us will kill us.