Hole in my head
It was a just a matter of the placement of circumstance. Pure coincidence. Nothing of the kismetic twist of fate whatever thingamagick. Still, questions are still left hanging and the doorways are still empty. Its 3 am, but where's the party?
'Who are you?' That is something that I cannot divulge to you immediately. And you probably know what is the logic behind that mystery. I assure you that you will be the first to know when I know. But that would probably be too late still because I would probably be dead. All I can safely say for the moment, in a quirky, smart-ass reply, 'Well, my dear, who do you want me to be?'
Somebody, please take these cavities and fill them up. Cement it with... something. Something to make these cavities look ok. Even better, fill them with something that would make the cavities feel better. This probably doesn't make any sense. As such, fascination and appeal doesn't follow logic anyway. I'm probably talking about nothing really. Probably talking out of utter banausiac desire to just talk. On for hours. Days. Forever. Whatever.
And I'm staring at the bottom of the coffee cup at 6 a.m and reminding myself not to give up. I want to hail a cab and just yell, 'Hey driver to the top of the world!' I want to find the perfect time of day. I want to hear the rolling thunder of the Spanish sky and witness pure poetry in motion on a Parisian night. Heaven is a place nearby.
But so near yet so far.