You reveal a little more of your well-crafted personality
and all I see is empty searching for happy.
I see you trying to disengage from your codependencies by dropping the local variety
for a supernatural artisanal blend
not the present moment peaceful kind
the kind that can only seep into the most corrupt of minds
the kind that assumes itself to be divine instead of just here now.
You’re happier when someone else is in control when it’s someone else’s fault
when you haven’t prayed hard enough or sacrificed enough
carrying your ego around is tough stuff
no contact and back stomach cramps you keep getting dumped
you wash your brain with washing your brain away so you can mind yourself
and stop thinking altogether for once.
It’s okay if you occasionally feel dumb
along the road to enlightenment
and I hope you’re happier then
when concocting fiction of fantastical personalities
greater than a man can know from your past
blended with the peak freshness of future anxiety
of proving once and for all you’re greater than everyone else on earth
a dangerous immortal high for huffing his own reflection
you’re wiser than chemical explosions that created all of us…
You’ll finally be happiest
pretending you were too good to really ever had existed at all.
It’s not your fault
you have to shift your reality away from me
I only validate your delusions in awkward spurts.
I forgive because I still choose the drug. Love. And it no longer hurts.

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