5-13-16
I'm only using you for your human experiences,
Your mortal interactions.
I like to watch,
I like to keep track of these stories and record them.
Maybe there's something deep within my lungs that is so very wrong but this feels too poetic to be unjust.
I study.
These faces don't even realize how well I can read them.
I'm getting good-
Putting pieces together like a puzzle,
Forming little stories, ones that are made up (you're not a little girl. You shouldn't play pretend anymore).
It doesn't take me out of my head,
Just gives me a place.

There's a certain unexplainable comfort in familiarity;
Not many accept change easily.
I'm a victim to this principle,
Seeing as I know these houses and their inhabitants and I know where certain bodies shall be present formally,
I know where to connect things (everything in my life is so interconnected, twisted together, stars made into constellations- it's kind of nice to think about).
New faces, new stories, open canvas, more insanity.
I'm scared of starting over.
I've learned these people,
Mastered their dynamics,
Injected their rhythm and stories into my veins.
I'm something near obsessive,
On the edge of insane,
Yet i just feel intellectual.
- (m.m)

That sounds more stalker-ey and creepy than intended but idk, I'm obsessed with this "obsession" I have over human life. I'm so far from human, so it fascinates me.