Ours

I feel on the verge of an idea, on the brink of something apocolyptic like there's something teetering on the tip of my tongue, sitting there semi-lucid,
waiting for a tap on the shoulder
it's female, this thing that drives me to static interludes,
or moments of clarity, or a stillness that i cannot reach simply by not moving
and in this docile state, i would think that she would show herself, but the truth never comes - at least not in this frame

and you know i am still often amazed when i see one of you pass me by
maybe i am disturbed by the free will you possess, something so natural so obviously normal, gives me the chills
that we are separate entitites, does not somehow make sense to me,
but maybe i simply live too often the public life on the surface,
foregoing the underlying of which i am so fond

(that the love i want to feel for you all would be discarded, breaks me)

and thus i'm on the verge of greatness of messianic proportions, but if i allow myself to believe this absurdity then i am surely doomed, aren't i?
for we know damn well that all visionaries must die violently

so... a visionary? me? no, surely not
the messiah? yeah right

all i ever wanted to do was prove to you that you are the thing that i cannot believe myself to be
in this, my current evolution, i am finding it difficult to believe the truth; a truth that is not only mine but rather, each and every one of ours.