All There Is

Is that all there is, then?

You pick tiny fragments of lint out of the fabric of the world. They rile up nobody but you and the whole world (at least as big as the world gets) knows about it all.

For you, it is all nothing more than another movie you refuse to watch, another gerund used incorrectly.

It is all so small, isn’t it? The rest of the world flies by you on the hunt for the big game and you? It’s all just a baby pool with the lights burned out.

Look at you, using metaphors to obfuscate. Slap another coat of Vaseline on the camera lens.

You wonder, do they hear the words never voiced in their heads like a buzzing fly? Do you hide too much? Would they? Is there something more to say?

If you split your heart open on a rock, who would see the carnage and run away?