a shot at subtlety

I mask you in metaphors, hoping to muster enough courage to read between the lines and flee. 


But even without the figures of speech, literally, I know the rhythmic beats that whip me bloodless. Even with feigned understanding, I catch the drift of the waves in your verses. I know from the waning sound of footsteps that you are attempting what I could not do: run away. 


But I am delusional, and my ears are plugged with dreams. 


And in the stillness of the flash between thought and sleep, I open you like a worn out paperback. I follow the lines with the point of my finger, pretending I could read you (at once dreading the worst: I can’t). Pretending I could continue pretending. But like you, I am masked in metaphors. And in the stillness of the flash between thought and sleep, I can only muster enough courage to confess: I am a phony.