You fill my dreams of late,
dark as they have always been,
like the still surface of an obsidian pond,
smooth, untarnished, metallic.
Seen to ignorant eyes as fine glass,
this body of water is eerie to behold,
its blackness slow and deliberate, deceptively motionless.
You cannot look away,
for this marvel is pristine, delicate, and beautiful
despite its ominous intent.
It isn’t till you step onto that lacquered surface
that you realize it isn’t solid.
My water runs deep into the earth,
hiding all manner of its physical environment,
there to lure your senses into believing the imagination.
You fill my thoughts in waking daylight,
a reminder that I must confront gray matter,
that I must pay particular attention
to the delicacies of modern interaction,
lest I become trapped in my fortress.
I’m peeved by your blatant display of emotion.
I bristle at your easy affirmation and manageable offenses.
I was forced to inherit my conditioning
despite my complete incompatibility in conjunction with it.
When I declared myself, I was criticized and demoralized.
I’m volatile and vicious when I’m between states of insensibility.
Perhaps I’m incurable of this underlying rage
that I am to confirm and submit so easily
when there is so much at stake.