Nowhere, no way.

These are my words, love, so listen close and forget to blink. I don't hear your voice; you're not my hallucination. You're more real than the feelings I learned how to cauterize (WikiHow knows everything); I know. I've tasted you.

The human being inside morphs to an oracle, mixed in words. These marks don't fade - just keep growing.

You aren't a muse, and these words don't come easily. Truth never does. Rather it falters, fades and slide in like the young sun hacking through smog. I don't hear you because you never said anything strong enough for me to listen. You're not the one who forced my mind.

But you could have had my body. It's stronger than my mind, though bruises accrue more easily. Blood yet claws at the under-surface of my legs, like black water under ice, and the clotting spreads. I could teach kids the insides of the rainbow, the guts and bolts of yellow, green and blue.

I don't sing for you and your songs can't find me. We are nothing but negative, carved deeper into rock than addiction could account for. Too far to touch - I am simplicity.

And you are not.

I have words to sketch a wall between souls too close. or minds, too warped to meld. You should have chosen some other thoughts to lust after; I'm too used to being used.

You'll never climb these walls.

That's not a challenge.

There are no walls to climb. But the box is too simple for puzzle-trained fingers to open.

You can't get close.
I felt you try, and I panicked. That's not a plea for forgiveness; it's been so long I almost forgot impenetrable defense means I'm safe. That I'm caged, content.

Throw words at the walls-not-there as you will. They'll accumulate, just flower petals on my stage. Maybe I'll look through and smile, but that day is far-future, not-now. The present is for what I know - these pretended grins that maintain contentment in the world.

They think I'm happy.

Don't prove them wrong.