Midnight Confessions of a Serial Stalker

The invisible women haunt me
All those people I lost the chance to meet
All those people I lost the chance to speak
All those people I could be.
I see the patterns repeat.
Admire from a distance and then retreat
Into a shell and paint their faces onto the ceiling
Till you are forced to look at them every night. No meaning
In your life do they seem to add
Yet why do I do it.
I see the sky and see connections of people scattered across space like constellations
Burning bright till I realize how far I am from their light.
They are in galaxies of their own.
In venn diagrams of their own, where my circle of life may never intersect theirs.
To create that common space I crave.
I never know what I lack in my reality to go searching for in theirs
Is it something deeper or just unholy curiosity?
Should I send my rockets into space to explore my own duality?
What am I made of?
Multiplicity. Duplicity. Duality.
Pretension. Apprehension. Power. I need an intervention.
To stop looking at the stars and dream of lives far away
When I have mine waiting to be lived.

Ghost Identities

Run your fingers through your hair
Do you feel the ghost beside you?
A claustrophobic mess you slumber in
Do you feel the fantasy surround you?
A dual life would be far too few
My mind is capable of too many.
The people I see are hundreds
I have invisible company.
The rain slashes through the illusion
I awaken from my mind
I run my fingers through my hair
Marveling at the emptiness beside.