You and Me

You and Me
Are Not You and Me
Because the You I see
Is not the You You see.

Even more,
The Me I see
Is not the You You see,
Even though
It may appear
To be.

And when we get to Three
Which is You, You, and Me
The things we see
Differently
Grow
Exponentially

So lets leave out
Four, Five, Six
Seven, Eight, Nine,
Ten, and Eleven Of Your Ground Zero
Because that’s a lot of Yous
And only one solitary Me.

Someday I wish the You I see,
Were the same as the Me You see.
You see…

We are family,
Blood and not Blood,
But all chosen.
I was chosen,
And you were chosen,
To be a part.
Not
To be apart.
Not
To tear apart
Those that Chose.

You wear your fake heart on your sleeve,
Like it means something other than a cruel reminder,
Of the memory you stain
With pain.
But the blood on the heart
Is not yours.
It’s those you say
You hold dear
But really,
You are holding soon to be dearly
Departed.
You suck the marrow and smack your lips, done with another corpse of Hope, and yet,
You’re still Hungry.

The Irony Is his given name,
J-U-S-S-I.
It’s pronounced
You See,
But I don’t think you do.

He’s not rolling over in his grave.
He’s weeping.
And I wish his tears could
Wash away
The Ink on your skin that does nothing
But Dishonor
The Memory of a Man
That had nothing but.
That I see.
JUSSI.

I coulda,
She coulda,
But you did.

And in doing so,
You’ve torn us asunder.
I’m not sure how many more
Six feet under
My love could be than it is now.
But you always manage to surprise me.

So throw another shovel
And bury me further.
Fill my mouth with dirt
Against the truth
To no avail,
While you gnash and wail
About the unfair world
That has left you nothing,
After you have taken everything

And Untethered
The final knot, setting the rafts adrift,
Floating on your crocodile
Tears
Created by fears,
That we know exactly the creature you are.
The sadness of this trip
In the twilight
Is that each raft is drifting a different way
Without even a Wilson
For a friend.
And the water grows higher,
This time with real tears
From the hearts not on the sleeve,
But the ones that beat
And are beaten down.

And you are right.
We failed you.
And how can we blame what we created,
The hunter of the weak,
The silent snake,
Who only knows how to take?
And since we know you.
Made you.
Created you.
Let me ask you,
How should I let you in with the sheep
You want to fleece,
Knowing what you are?

But
If we didn’t make you,
There was a choice,
Much like you and I were a choice, but what you birthed
And fed, was the devil whispering on your left
And you slew the angel on your right.
The one,
You see,
That should have been
Jussi.

When you acknowledge
Your Action,
You know
What you are,
Is by your hand
And your choice.

And then in that moment,
The You I see,
I hope (my only hope)
Is the Me You see.
And maybe yours is the last heart broken
When the mirror is held up

And Clarity Reigns.
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Erik K.

Owner, Curator, Writer of this blog.

It's quiet. Too quiet. Someone say something.