Inquest.
I could sit here and devise mathematical formulas on probability and biochemical equations on how to make you listen when im saying something you really dont want to hear. Or i can experiment. Trial and error. I can play russian roulette with the new point of view that im going to instill in you. Ill dilute your water with acid and youll tell me it burns almost as lovely i do. Ill thank you. Ill leave. Youll come back months later clad with emptiness, heart sunken inwards and tell me youve aquired a taste for the solution. You Crave it. Youll tell me it reminds you of me. I wont give you more, this time; ill be your antidote. I've broken you down so that i can build you back up. Youll call me youre saviour. Youll give me everything in your power except a reason to stay. Ill give you just enough to keep you alive, but youre still starving. Ill be your niccotine. One puff of my cigarette for the starving artist majoring in the art of heartache. Ill metabolize your soul into a dark world of indifference. Youll justify the emotional numbness by calling it being enlightened. Ill share with you my journals of self phycoanalysis. Youll think im opening up to you. Im not, theyre just cliches who have studied the dictionary. You might stick around enough long enough not to recognize, but to learn my games. My games will become youre games but youre not even going to notice. My words, but never thoughts will dance around your head playing hide and go seek with your heart until everything you once thought you knew is hidden and youve lost the power to seek. And now by habit you might deal the cards i gave you back to me. Ill be caught off guard and ill say sorry. I wont mean it. Youll know this by now.