Taking Chances

Right now what I fear the most is that there’s nothing to cling to, nobody to see through. I fear my eyes have gone dry, that your voice is just an excuse, that my mind has gone blank. I fear that sorrow is my invention and mine to bear alone, that the creation is so beautifully aching that I’m beginning to lose myself. I fear that remorse is just a game, that I’m playing against myself, that believing is dependent on truth, and truth is an idiolect. And I’m afraid to tell you that you owe me my simplicity, that you gambled my skin and tissue, that you lost your bet.