Mousy

Narcoleptic necromancer, nymph of negotiable negligent nightmares, naked as a nimble newborn numerically napping nowhere, a noble nitpicker named nothing necessarily.

Angst ridden angels swim Baphomet's swollen callused belly credent as demons douse the teasing sea of bees.

Strangers saved us, died for us, ancient written typology for Jesus used to be a friend; Jesus used to be me.

Wings elongate bones fearless of man constructed of composite skin creates the image of misery.

There she is admiring a ring; who gave it to me? Circle of devotion wise of theoretical karma all too evident as the mirror illusion; a presence neither here nor there. Instinctively the surface of metal is a soft traveler of whimsical gallant, the sensitivity of bravery she is faint for handsome intention; she wonders who wears the symbol of masculinity as she is his femininity.

Picture of the woman she keeps so familiar the emotion surpasses a moment's lucidity. A lick of lips music video doth appear as the profile she desires to be in motion of the witnessed kiss.

"Say....what are you anyways?"

"Never seen anybody look like you before...."

"You got a sister named....??"

"I seen you before."

"You must be that girl...."

"You don't remember me!"

"Where you been?"

Everywhere recognized yet nobody knows her name; she must of been caught in a child's butterfly net.

"This has nothing to do with you."

"Then why did you chase me?"

"You will do as intended."

"What would that be?"

"Whatever I please..."

"If this has nothing to do with me then why wish for me to do as you please?"

"I need to know she is where I can find."

"How am I she?"

"I need to find out."

"What if I am not?"

"Then I will stop."

"What if I am?"

"Then I am wrong."

"You think you are always right?"

"I know what is best for her..."

"How can you be so sure?"

"I know her better than anyone."

"We will find out. What if you do not know her at all?"

"Then I will return to whence I came and she can be with her Beau."

"Where is her Beau?"

"Wherever he feels is best for her."

"Who is he?"

"He is like me..."

"He thinks the same for her Beau as you do for she?"

"Her Beau is nowhere she will find. Her Beau is where we place him."

"She probably wishes she never met you. Her Beau probably wishes the same."

"They will do as we please."

"You cannot keep them from each other. No matter what they will be."

"Not if we keep them apart."

"You cannot tear pages from a book to read."

"You sound just like her...."

"You cannot write words into a book to read."

"You are the one we need to keep discrete."

"You cannot take her Beau's letters which she wrote to make them your read."

"You cannot fool me either."

"You do not know me."

"You are right I don't but the similarities are astounding. You will do as I bid you."

"If I am so similar then you do not know her either."

"That's enough you will never see me again."

"She will never see you again either?"

"She will know me as her Beau."

"What of her Beau?"

"She will not know him any longer."

"Somebody must of seduced you into the notion if you suspended her motion you might be able to keep her bidding as your own."

"Something like that..."

"She will always know her Beau and from this she will no longer wish to know you at all."

"Neither will find each other to know one another."

"Distance can be a challenge; their misery will be yours as well. How can you be sure this will separate them?"

"I'm not...."

"Then you should let us go."

"Eventually...."

"What do you want?"

"What is mine..."

"What is yours?"

"Whatever belongs to her..."

"What belongs to her?"

"Her self...."

"If her self belongs to her then her self belongs to her Beau and his to her as well. You do not belong."

"That is enough you are gone...."

Where did I go? I must of been dreaming again. I am reading the mad man. Somehow he makes a lot of sense. I feel to know him deeper than intimacy. I feel we should meet. I sincerely hope he finds his Beau; I am somewhat sure she must feel the same way. I wonder if she remembers him as he remembers her. I wonder what happened to him, the words he writes vague as a dream scattered about; this being the nature of dreams, recollection must be finality. His Beau must be beautiful beyond description; I might need to meet him as well....