Quicksilver
Snatched away by a mock role.
Despair not.
Discard innocence — a troublesome memory disassociates.
Time recursively scrolls the memory:
Trying / Failing.
When was it lost?
In the combined turbulence
of the intersecting visual produced by
the mind’s perception of reality and self through eyes.
Caught thinking, dreaming:
“What is sleep?"
"I can’t know sleep — who is she?"
"I know she sounds ugly."
"I love sleep, but she doesn’t love me for real.”
Being seen through by another,
yet receiving recognition.
Redemption is still always possible.
Humanity doesn’t have to be some chimerical tragedy.
Alchemic deals made in belligerence,
producing mercurial blood.
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