I sense you have bipolar disorder.
How I long to console you.
These covetous desires never resolve.
My dear, I’m not a savage.
I’m a sheer veracious resonance.
I am locked. You are my key.
You are a reality check ―
Of who I am. Judging a book by its cover.
I don’t expect anything. You expect more.
Why can’t you be complacent?
Still, how can you be narcissistic?
I am confuzzled how your dimension works.
You are nothing but my mime manifestation.