
Penetration You tell me I can look inside you penetrate you, delve amongst what’s hidden there, know you. And yes, I know you. Know that you hide yourself in subterfuge. Know there’s both fantasy and fact in the mixture you expose in your stories. And they’re hidden inside. I know that you bar the door, and don’t let anyone in. Make up stories. Or spit out what comes first into your head. Let it escape. Then, if it’s true, hide it, cloak it in make believe, in fantastic lies. So no one knows you. Yes, I can see inside, see the grand mixture of nonsense, of deceit and anxiety, truth and concern for privacy. But I can’t separate out one from the other. And it doesn’t matter, you see, I like the mystery. But you are wrong to think that when I look inside you I know who you are. Only that you are a mystery. And that I like mysteries. I can understand them. https://drive.google.com/file/d/17ezU5Gduo9Qs-G1GiD6cACw_VmhFMzS1/view