I am a dice for you. Play me roll me throw me. Each number I sustain is for your amusement. Turn me in your hands. Churn me. And slowly you will see the digits disappearing. An empty skin of a loaded dice.
I am the curtains in your room. You can draw me or wash me as you like. When you want you can cover it with my fabric and not let light pass into your eyes. When the darkness is too much you can split open me right from the middle. Draw my each wing away and rejoice in the sunlight that fills your eyes.
I am you for you.
Love yourself, hate yourself. Know yourself, be unknown.
Mysteries are enigmatic for a reason. Reason is futile to become a mystery. I am your paradox. In or out up or above try to chase some sense into me and see how strong a paradox is. It’s unchangeable. It’s free of polarized edges. Nothing can breathe sense into a paradox. It lives as it wants to. In the middle of everything.
I am your disappointment. Sit with me. With your hands folded and knees shaky. The words that tremble, the words slowly disassemble.
I am the truth that never hides. But honestly it’s never revealed.
A mothers longing to teach love another lovers black dove.
I am the pause button on your palm. Press me again to resume.
The 180 degree angle. Only half as beautiful as your 360 degree turns.
I am a loud shriek covered by a strong hand or the white cotton of your pillow.
We have labeled it, defined it, without reaching to its original truth. We are mortal beings who love defining. Who love labeling as much as we do love compartments and classifications.
But I am not a category.
Tease me till decay.
Decay is real. Decay is seen. It smells bad but it has a strong bloody smell. You can cover your eyes and not see it but it’s still there decaying.
The full circle is completing. Endings wrapped in a welcome. Welcome. Welcome.
I am your ending. Reach me.