She asked: "What is real for you?"
Is it that smoke that burns on the way down?
Burning me to my core?
Is it the woman I wake up next to?
What is her name?
After awhile they all blur together.
There is no light and nothing ever feels right anymore,
Not since the day I woke and say myself in the mirror
Plain, no make up, bare and stripped
I look at myself and ask
What is real for me?
Is it the words on these pages?
Letters of an alphabet put together to make sense but nothing makes sense anymore.
I wake up every morning laying the the bed,
It's not even my bed.
I couldn't tell you how many others have slept here because I myself do not have this knowledge.
My room is filled with things, and stuff, and items,
But none of these things are mine.
I do not own them,
I carry no power over what they do,
I do not have power,
All i have is my mind,
"Not even a body?"
No...
All i have are these thoughts
And are they even real?
They ask:
"What is real for you?"
And I would answer, if not for this deadly smoke I suck through every breath.
Breathe, you tell me?
Breathe?!
And how would i do that la mia amante?
For too long now I have been inhaling these cancerous fumes and I am tired...
But sleep is never present.
Nothing is real to me
Not the breathless women I lay atop of each night.
What are their names?
Or will I ever know,
Ever care...
This is what I am:
A being
"Not human?"
A being of cells,
Of molecules,
Of atoms,
And it all means nothing to me...
All of this,
My life,
My dreams,
Means nothing
Because at the end of the day
No one really listens to you,
Not even when you are on your last dying breath,
You and I?
We are never heard
Those we think listen
Are only waiting for their turn to speak
And that is what feeds us...
Interaction with others?
but it's all a lie
What is real for me,
That is what you want to know?
It's not worth my time to explain
Because even though you are reading this,
Or listening to me speak
You will never truly hear me or see me,
All you know is that brown haired blue eyed girl is sitting in the grass
Smoking a cigarette and writing.
You don't see me do you?
So to answer your question I ask:
"What is real for you, la mia amante?"