(treat this as a thing to skim over at the very least; any feedback is much appreciated :) )
the fakeout
(started 1/10/26)
nevery time I meet you, its
inflection, reflection, dissection of
that bubbly-go-lucky personality.
not to burst your bubble, but
I hate
that I can only see that.
It's like a rose-tinted lens permanently affixed
hell-bent on fixing nothing wrong.
only that choking aroma of that sakura smile,
the pastel pink that perforates
what you really smell like.
a quiet violet underneath, perchance.
is it not tiring to wire yourself?
every day, 11001/1000, to program a mind
so far removed from your own?
either that, or the glitched fact that
you don't even know what your source code is.
if it even existed at all.
encoded in corrupted C pluses across the screen.
maybe this will be all I'll ever dream of:
that suffocated underneath these lies.
weary eyes realising the same thing.
real eyes realising the same thing.
eyes. to eyes. are you really
still seeing this with me?
in the meantime, where status is king
and personality hibernate until prodded
I'll wait silently, an ephemeral reflection
of whatever soul you have
left. apart.
adrift in saccharine perfumes and wireless blues
with only my twin pyres set upon
you.
and you feel it too.
no? don't say no. or yes.
for that matter.
for ALL that matters
is one day
I'll finally see
the real you.
with you.