The Simpleton's Routine [Final Draft]

Let me know which one you guys like better. <3

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You know he does not care;

quite honestly, you do not  care either.

It is merely a ritual you attend to every Wednesday afternoon at three,

Your mind accompanying his, two pleasant companions on a familiar journey, perhaps to a different continent.

There none of this exists and there is only white, which you grope at curiously with your fingers.

In truth, the gross graphic detail of your tea party bores him spectacularly;

Meaningless strings of words, of nothing, to fill nothing.

But it’s better than the painful long silences that so often clog up the gaps in both of your conversations

(the nervous holes shaking until you both freeze in your  skins).

So while your mouth flaps seemingly obliviously in the breeze,

He paces around heavily, in his mind, observing another world that’s he located far too many times before.

Even you can see the foam bubbles exploding from his mind;

Stumble-stuttering as they escape from holes in his skull with some difficulty,

The images run blankly through his head, 

black-and-white film that dully graces the flat landscape, the washing-machine interior of his brain.

You imagine bacteria; worms where his thoughts have begun to decay, being uselessly tossed aside,

perhaps added with some salt in case you want to save them for later.

You’ll return to the pile every once in a while to peruse them;

discard the ones that have grown unbearable to look at (or, indeed, even touch without rubber gloves).

But you can’t pretend to see colors where there isn’t anything;

He can’t either, however much he would like to.

(But he does not speak of it,

and neither do you.)

Instead you sit, and he smiles,

and together you observe the hollow shape of your brains,

the silence that cowers beneath the constant clamor of your voice--

the pleasant emptiness, the stringing hum of words that run effortlessly through your tongue

straight through his ears; neurotically, with plastered twin anxious grins all the while,

secretly fingering the strings and passing them between the two of you nervously with shaking fingers.

A pleasant chat over tea every Wednesday afternoon.