He reaches from across the table, I cringe
May your astonishing heavy structure and lively ridicule I’ve drawn in the eyes stop from bleeding off my fingers
On a paper that feels as old as papyrus “Who is this?” he asks and echoes my rampant scraping whims
I deny my own creation, a bold reincarnation of you; the one who carved me out of my cynical proposition
Stoicism piety man! We’re all heading the wrong direction!
Until I notice you at your utmost sophistication
I turn into my great great great grandmother at her territorial infraction
Suddenly a primate in me strives to join your costly world of perpetuation
Few seconds involuntary gaze,
The most ancient form of consent,
The healthiest instinct
Boiling from under history long resentments
Showing up from under cocoon like thousand years of layers and covers and paisley patterns
I chose you
And this dated back prior to
When your ancestors set fire on my imperial palaces
Before despondency had in-ordinated my cultural existence
Before I knew enough to blame heartfelt adventures on hormonal imbalance
**It wasn’t even me it was an archaic encryption in my double helices
**Deeper than the pulsing of veins and muscle fibers
A signal produced beneath my frontal cortex carried through my neural circuits
I chose you**
Before the two hard working egos who sat between you and I had earned their degrees
I knew in your cave we could’ve healed our pounded bodies Before I knew anything
Anything regards the foreigner me and the 9 to 5 er you
On top of all the difference, you were agnostic and cool and I wasn’t sure whether or not I’m a mystist
You had earned the luxury of being a winner, an over achiever,
Compared to you I was a basic hunter gatherer, Now just a weaver
You violated my bitter isolation
why?
I chose you before I knew you’ll soon quit anticipation
I don’t need a remedy for over coming the obsession
I’m off to improvements and a doctorate degree and a bunch of introspection I didn’t need
If you hadn’t murdered all of our un-incepted tribal divergence
He reaches from across the table
I shy away with a machine like awkwardness
“Who is this?” he asks
I’m embroidering my loss
This is you, blood coming off my fingers
The paper IS as old as papyrus