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I'll let you in on a secret;
sometimes
I believe things.

I mean, if I shut close my mouth tight tighter
then maybe I'm invisible like air and god.
So this morning, I walked around busy town humming
so as to avoid such a catastrophe
and occasionally whistling just to make sure.
I'm humming loud loudly and getting a few odd looks
which just proves my hypothesis, really.
I'm doing things to make myself obvious
like screaming, stamping, stomping, thrashing, throwing, trashing, defiling memorials, wearing neon clothes and bracing myself against the thrall of gravity and screaming "Look at me! Just. Look at me!"
and I realize that perhaps,
maybe, this is all just a bit attention-seeking.

So I shut it.
Lock it, zip it tight, press my lips together so
I become invisible to everyone and I looked down ground for good measure.
Amongst the rowdy crowd town and hubble bubble
I'm just another invisible being, parting the crowds
like Moses parting rivers, but they don't know why they're moving
because, after all, there's nobody there.

So yes, I'm...dammit, is there another word for invisible?
It's getting a little repetitive.
So here's how it goes; for the rest of this, I'm going to substitute
'invisible' for 'in love'.
So every time I say 'in love', what I really mean is invisible
and that way you'll never know whether I really mean
that I'm in love or invisible which is better all round.

So I'm in love as long as my mouth is shut and
more so if I look at the ground and I remain that way
until some stranger looks straight at me as I think that, maybe,
if they can see me when everyone else can't, maybe they can see my soul as well,
but they can't because it's in love.

Anyway, I dislike strangers, because they can see that I'm in love,
but look at me anyway. I like to imagine their back-stories, as if they're
a character in some greater plot and perhaps they'll be the murderer after all
but they always have dramatic back-stories. Like their mother died
or their wife miscarried or their pet cat is waiting at home, and that's about it
because they have no one or some other tragedy because I'm
just not an optimist, really, even if it seems that way.
All this helps me feel a little compassion for them and dims the hate light
that burns bright because they know that I'm in love, but insist on seeing me anyway.
Damn strangers.

And other times I like to make-believe I'm in love,
and I'll throw things around and scrawl on walls,
but that's okay,
'cause I'm in love.