I can't see the hairline fissures in your psyche.  I don't know why you are the way you are.  I can guess. I can classify you.  But you defy me.  You refuse to be consistent.  You're pounding into me, breaking my self-assurance, cackling at the cracks in the wall.

I try to fill them in for you.  I cover them with paint.  The paint cracks.  I build supports.  The wall starts to sway.  Frantically I scream at you to stop, to return to your seat, to return me my sanity.

Your eyes are filled with laughter.  Tomorrow, it will all be dust.

photo by garmonique.

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