סקיצות מחיים דיספונקציונליים

I hold you to the highest possible standard
I see the best in you
I hold the screen high & tight
I stand on my tiptoes, my whole body is tense
It’s one line of tight muscle
My hands hurt, my toes hurt
In my hands just a beaten screen
Slipping away from my sweaty palms.
I try to hold it in my last bit of energy
The screen is light, so airy, so fragile,
Like an old photo of you,
A faded image of what you could have been or what you never were
Or what you never could be,
Or a figment of my imagination
A collection of images that when put together just slightly resembles you.
What made me choose this screen?
Attach myself to this broken image
What wretched joke am I playing with myself?
What if I put down this screen right now and walk away
But I can’t
I am attached to my broken screen.
The mystery of it’s content, of it’s pull won’t let go of me.
I cannot put it down until I understand it.
Until it relinquishes me
Until you relinquish me
I am a sad person
So is your image looking at me from the screen.
I have the habit of picking up broken things, unwanted, unneeded things
Abandoned things.
Was I just picking up myself?