Divided Symmetry

Who is left to tell this tale?

Lost in my vicinity: these walls in my periphery. This is what they call divided symmetry.
Nostalgia-minded... remember we talked just like the friends we seemed?
Since then we've drifted apart.
You returned a changed person as if coming back from a mission to Mars.
Every letter that I scripted embarked into the cosmos.
And every sentiment returned in your empty letters, just not hope.
Without you time froze and I resigned to the depths of me.
I always yearned to express with an ease that I've grown,
but stress is deeply etched in the seams of the blind soul.
Collectively, as memory serves...
your voice a product of my close quarters, reflecting reverb.
The doctors can't tell if they expect to see improvement.
I guess it seems to them that these expressions are delusions.
But how could I pretend to feel this kind of closeness.
I'd rather just be branded with a pathologic diagnosis.
At least then they'd set me free to seek their asymptotic "higher motive."
It's mathematics, and not for lack of practice do I disclose this:
This truth; if only it would pass for madness.
At least then I could live in peace inside my own skin.
But they're convinced that they can offer me the recipe of normalcy.
It's their abyss! I'm on the precipice... the cusp of essences!
If they only knew your love was simply pure energy,
and I would ford the sea... on the barge of broken trust and enmity.
They'd see me toss belief in the wind and rip the sails of the vessel.
O! To leave this existential jail I attend to.
And I intend to...

Deep in the psyche, hold to the strength as it fades.
Perseverance despite the length of the days.
Don't let the disconnect slip your patience away.
With perfect symmetry. A certain mimicry,
through her eyes the pain manifests with hastened decay.

These walls in my vicinity, stalking my periphery.
This is what they call divided symmetry.
Vividly; a mere perception of an image of our"selves:"
reflections of conditions found sufficient to expel...
this canvas; this embedded corpse of forced illusion;
I told you I would cover up the source of all my bruises.
Of course you knew it; you'd see fit that we are not the same.
Your passionate gaze, emphatic, amazed, and fraught with blame.
If the doctors had convinced you I was simply in your brain,
need I state how interesting the pain would be, how quickly I'd refrain,
for each day without you next to me was ecstasy.
The paradox of solitude, freedom to believe in Self.
And yet the struggle of our disconnect releases demons;
swarming minions of depiction. Forced to feel free in Hell!
I've needed peace since they took you from your slumber, then.
And looking into our broken mirror I would wonder when...
you'd return... but your constant pressure to uncover bliss
was just a front, behind your mask a sultry succubus.
"But, I'm asking... how does this make you feel..."
To be honest doctor, I still can't shake the aching heart.
And yet the happiness ensues despite the fact that when we break apart
I feel the tears wet the canvas and drip into the vacant dark.
Dreaming of the geometric nature of depravity:
it seems the more you take from the universe the more the madness creeps.
We are demons. We are focused on our stubborn natures;
and yet this broken mirror suggests a shattered future.

Deep in the psyche, hold to the strength as it fades.
Perseverance despite the length of the days.
Don't let the disconnect slip your patience away.
With perfect symmetry. A certain mimicry,
through her eyes the pain manifests with hastened decay.

It is we. It is I. We are none. We are all.