you stole it from me… my attention. my focus. with sleight of hand, and more than a dash of flippancy, you slipped it into your back pocket and made off with it. leaving me short of breath, lost for words and [with terminal velocity] falling… tumbling in beautiful dischord and disarray, i am falling to the ground – like a butterfly with her wings on fire.
like white noise, you radiate. always there. and i cannot switch you off. i feel strangely hypnotised by this beautiful allure and i do not want to switch you off. this call of the wild. this noiiiiiiiiiiiise. it is always there. inside my head. in my bed. beneath the sheets, beneath my skin.
yes. you stole it from me. my sanity. too late to give it back. it is no use to me now. i am gone. lost. fallen. fucked. i do not want it. perversely, i am happy here. happy in this cocoon of madness, and gleaming brilliance of words and vision. happy in this (dis)placement of reality and question.
a detour. a diversion. a distraction. a beautiful distraction.
a joyride. yes.
you stole it from me. and you have it.
and now that you have it – please, be gentle…
don’t break it.
… i am already broken.
(c) Kat McDonald