You looked through me;
that’s what threw me.
It’s like I wasn’t there.
Don’t you care that I’m on fire?
A giant, flaming pyre of diseases of the mind?
I think you’ll find, upon inspection,
a singular infection: I exist.
What a twist! So unexpected!
I’m more than just figment
of your inner fascination. Not a
bump to stub your toe on; not a beach
to ebb and flow on: I have tides
all of my own. Not a stone to be hurled
at an unsuspecting world
I am not
the moral of your story.