Words left to the undecided...

I can't quite figure it out, can't quite grasp what it is and why most of the time it exists around me in a miasma of veiled misconceptions, of lightly flicked charades of the self deprecating, forgotten morbidness, not unlike a general's last thoughts as his defense falls to its knees. Like little plastic infantry left unguarded by the cavalry even though the backup was never there to begin with. The calls for help merely echoing through the vacancy, shunned by a complete lack of reception. The line doesn't even read busy, it simply says "Not interested."

So pluck the strings of melancholy embodied - play your zither to the tune of wasted time without ever noting the irony of its hold, because perhaps this time its rosy cheeks wont be from where your plectrum last played. Varnish and shine, all that ever shows is light quick stepping from nerve to nerve to make the visceral idea that something was even there to begin with, so take a deep breath and ask, "What am I really seeing here?"

From the puzzled look on your face one can surmise the thoughts going through your mind. "Uh, I'm not sure I understand. Could you repeat the question?" Keeping true to the nature of my discourse, allow me to respond. "Yes, but not in the way you'd expect. Over the past several minutes, while you've been reading this, I've been spinning a web to catch your subconscious thoughts, making for an unsteady feeling to creep its way through your mind. Under your skin you'll feel it tingling like the invisible feet of microscopic ants, right until it dawns on you."

And that's when, if you're able to stop thinking about me, you'll see quite clearly what I think of you... yet you still may find yourself asking, "What am I really seeing here?"