Distorted Light in Its Own Right
Some kind of a refraction within these diamond windows,
Compelling a retraction of what you and I intended to say,
Within every reflection, I lose sight of all but my lingering woes,
Silenced through each redaction, I wish these qualms drain away
These diamond windows exist as the light outside aims to incinerate my eyes,
That’s why my eyes evade everyone else’s who may look right through me,
Carbon is turning into silicon, vulnerable sincerity betrays my lies,
Life morphs into artificiality; let’s distort that which lies beyond the words I set free.
Well, I am the thing on the doorstep: A--ri--a--na--please, let me write my name at the very least!
But even if I did, it would be one of those things you’d never read, would it?
Looking through me, never seeing me -- as though I’m a book to analyse, unorthodoxically pieced
I’ve precipitated cataracts into my eyes, so look into them and tell me what you see, the shoe might fit
An ABAB rhyme scheme I’ve crafted for no reason but to mislead you with these red herrings,
Deflections and diversions that I gift to you, just so you never know why I’m morose so often,
Personality contorted to be sanguine and anodyne, cynical and facetious, hiding melancholy’s barings
If I don’t, you depart, and I ponder my inability to refrain from allowing my convictions to soften
Are you alright? Are you okay? What’s going on? How are you doing?
Apparitions of a concern I wholeheartedly cherish, but still, they are the keys to Pandora’s box
The can-opener to the can of worms: slithering, slimy, sickly; each a word you’re misconstruing,
To see me, you’d need to feel -- you have only thought, causing you to overlook this paradox
Feel with me, not for me; in return I will share your pain -- all else is merely bastardisation of one’s heart,
Be mired in the present blues, I will cease my precious melancholy and accept the prospect of optimism;
Then it’ll be more than this sentiment you witness, my thoughts will echo the rationalism of Descartes
Yet empathy is betrayed by pity; is it lamentation of my lost potential, or contempt towards my nihilism?
I will continue to retract, redact, and refrain, all that I’ve said as to not let myself seem insufferable
I will remain a transparent piece on the chessboard, subject to your calculations, fate’s manipulation
I erode my sanity to account for this warping of my comprehension of our amity, its ensuing rubble,
What remains is my conscience; admitting this injustice, the direction to travel to attain rectification
And I walk away, though quite hesitantly -- I haven’t left, I’m writing a manifesto for all of you,
Wherein the persona is aligned with the person I aspire to be, and my words ring crystal clear,
Each so iridescent and photoelastic, but none distorted -- conveying more nuance, yet remaining true,
How have you seen through me, when the only crystallised facet of my identity is the salt from each tear?