The State of Me

The state of me...

Washed,
 lost in transit.
Clinging to the thing that stabilizes me,
the thing I can no longer identify in the dark.
It ebbs and flows just out of reach,
but then again how far am I truly extending my grasp?
This I can not say.
I have been transposed so many times I feel transparent.

The inky shadows call to me,
as they always have.
Shout out my name in the dreams I wish I were having,
but alas I have nothing.

The air it fills me by words that fall from my fingers.
How else do I truly know of my own existence?
The words make me real,
make me feel,
and without them I am nothing.
Shapeless,
baseless,
crude and abandoned.

Do not misconstrue my thoughts as bland mocking misery.
I pray you don't read to deeply into me,
too deeply into a thing that the surface would easily tell all.
Give you the just of me,
the state of all I ever long to be.

I don't dabble in sadness,
nor taunt the roads of woe,
I see the world through sanguine eyes,
bleary red,
pragmatically innocent,
and devoid of staple perversions.