Unraveling the Raveled.

A common name on a desk. A demon's face smirking with a subtle mischievous quark. Find me. How can I know so much about people and nothing of myself? How can I care about everyone (some could call it love) but care nothing of myself? Platonic love seems so wrong, but feels so right. I am on a mission for submission. My admission starts the ignition, and I drive away. No gas. Fuck. Hide the glass because your shattered heart will cut me. I will bleed. I will die. Save me from tomorrow. I would rather be blind and know you love me, than to see you and know you don't. At the gas pump, my head lightens, and I know you exist. I know you; I love you.
Pick a time in you were happy, sad or in awe. Let it overwhelm you; let it splice the fragments of your life into one continuous strand of error. Take every moment in your life and place it behind a veil; a veil that enthralls my face to a peak point of adjunct. Adjacent to my face, and eye or leg or toe. Place me on top of the world; I am my own. I am free. I am alive. My peak is the bottom. I weep into my place. My words are young. As they age my rage feels as an old theater would; used but useless; expensive but priceless; old but ageless. Interest. Play me like a violin whose sweet notes call for me by name; a melancholy song of salvation. A savior in its own right. But it isn't right is it? We fight to fight; we fight to be right. We are wrong. But alas, we are strong in head and body, in life and death. Let's take our one final breath and sleep forever now. The end of it all, you know, the climactic bow. Walk down a million miles of untraveled road; see into the sky (envisioning the starlight's gold) and in finality cause to tread on nothingness. Believe in this epic pause; have your epic flaw; sleep with your epic wife. And at the premiere of the next big show, savor the flavor of this epic blow.