all of it, and none

everything has no meaning and too much meaning all at once. frequencies cancel each other out and all i hear is a low melancholy hum in this saturating heat. i am in somebody's car chain-smoking in the back because that's all i do these days instead of the other. did i say i've become a ghost? how then, so visible?

you're staring, don't you know. don't assume my eye contact in the rearview has meaning. Old Man and the Sea was about fishing, after all. but something more too. and that's what you're looking for. you won't find it here. my face has been saying you don't know me, you never will since i first learned to wear it. 

i suddenly become very interested in a hangnail on my right index finger or maybe in the cars rushing past, their breeze whipping my hair. still smoking, and smoking. you say it's like i'm grieving. i say nothing. maybe i am. how many lives have i lost, living just this one? i want hair that looks best at its worst and hands that touch things in a certain way and meaning to solidify and condense so i am not so terrified all the time. 

i have that urge to run again. too many know too much. surreal cities breed existential thoughts. my tights are in tatters, i'm all used up. 

but i won't. i won't run. where else is there to go? i'll stay and learn to expand space and create distance out of nothing, out of silence. how many senses fall into atrophy while we look and look and run our mouths? i would like to hear in your silences what you are really saying and leave you not knowing i know it. another secret you won't take.