Don’t tell me I’m not vibrant.
Among closeted tyrants,
I’m the least at home,
and rather over-rehearsed.
cluster along the dialogue line
that runs between the several personalities
emerging from the data haze.
Amazing how we circulate, paraphrase.
I guess I’m not problematic enough
for certain tastes.
Like I don’t have enough
on my plate already.
We crave a heavier kind of love
to save us from our ghastly inner light,
but all we get is candied blight
I’ve been faking it since day one.
Or so I keep telling myself.