dear stranger

dear stranger,

you're not so distant after all; in fact, you are quite familiar. i've noticed that twinkle you get in your eyes when you ramble on about making it big, and falling asleep in his arms every night. but that sparkle dazzles attractively like fool's gold, glazing the surface of the glossy coating that masks your core. you want me to believe that you've finally found your place under the lights, under the covers; you yearn to believe it yourself. but you know you can't. i know you too well to give in the that glistening look you've got. your soul goes much deeper than a sixty-five foot auditorium theatre ceiling, much deeper than six inches of down bedding. deep calls to deep.

is that beige sackcloth sweater you wear as comfortable as my fleece blanket? you're taking your benadryl to stop that itching, but it won't leave you alone, will it? all you want is to rip away your flesh, but you can't because it's all you've known. the lights are all you've known. his arms are all you've known. deep calls to deep.

dear stranger, why spend money on what is not bread, and your labor on want does not satisfy?

take the scales off your eyes, dear stranger.