nights so many
years
broadcasting.
broadcasting and broadcasting.
to myself but we're all
connected, right
collective, right
so why am I still talking to
myself unless of course this is
nothing, or
imagined nothing which would be
something hey
mental illness mental satellites and
all the same sounds songs words
filling up life space
making us less just people but
full on souls for lack of better title
forgive my imagination, I keep
seeking out this
comforting disquiet where
everything has to mean the
biggest thing, it's all real
coincidence makes sense only when I'm
alone, maybe I'm my own
true love.