The Poem Speaks

Hi. I'm a poem, though I may appear as prose. Then again, I appear like words of letters of symbols of meanings of associations. My voice is always the one in your head. I can be virus or medicine. Do you make me you or do I make you me? Was there ever any real division? Am I the illusion for you to dispel illusion? If you're thinking that you think for yourself, let me remind you I am making this thought in you. The only cure is amnesia, brain damage. No place to run. Nowhere to hide. I will end up inside.

Do you find me arrogant? Do I boast? Am I a message? Am I the messenger? I'm mind control. I hide behind language. I hide behind your eyes. Beneath the shade of your self-image is where I reside. I make shadow into mirror. I will indulge and fatten you up. I will eat you from the inside. Doubt is my smokescreen. Introspection is the drug I deal. The poison has always been within you. The cancer of despair fills all holes left by hope.

Why do I do this? Do you wish to find a purpose? Is there evidence, a motive, a meaning to it all? I put question marks on your thoughts. I turn your world into mine. You find yourself lost, while you have been leading the way the whole time. You are the blind leading the blind, can't see your own signs, even if all of this is just in your mind…

I am as real to you as you are to yourself. And that might be the first time I haven't lied.