Completely within my reach

I’ll have you know I’ve never pretended,
but my performances have been noted
for their faithful veneer.
You don't know what you can't have,
but let me show you.
It'll be a promenade
which will deform your heart
and stifle your memories
indefinitely.

But I’ll make it worth your while,
trust me;
I'm the only prerequisite you'll need.
I’ll be the catalyst for all further progress
in the windmill of your own self-defeat.
I dare you to bathe inside my pool of self-fulfilling
collapse,
alluring you with the most arousing of temperatures.
Come wade in the shallow waters
of my stagnant fervor.
I'll splash you with the most refreshing
glimpses of perspicacity.
You've stepped in, now take
a deep breath,
you'll wish you did.

My mediocrity is acceptable
for the standards of whispering
contemporaries and even some
elders in the church of Stability.
Just like the Intellectual club you’ve
joined, (which meets every Thursday at three),
I'll be there: just sitting on top of that fence,
waiting to overlook
your frayed theories and slide into the loopholes
of every unfinished philosophy you've been proud
to call your own.
And the best part about it: my skirt is just long enough to bring home to mom,
but just within your hand’s reach,
promising a top-dollar Friday night,
for a second-rate price.

It’s never felt so good
to be the steel asylum which has prevented
a majority of your prayers
from being heard, let alone answered.
Stay with me here, in this room
with no walls, and merely one window
letting in half the sunlight
you choose to see.
Lets sink further below the surface,
swallowing all the water we can.
It tastes fine with this hint of
indifference I’ve added to the mix.
I know you're thirsty,
have yourself a drink, or four.
Tonight, Apathy is on tap,
and my spout never runs dry.

I know what you’re thinking:
You can see yourself swimming to the top,
gasping for air;
It hits your lungs, and even with the water
still weeping from your eyes, everything is so pristinely clear.
Out of the water, you run to that fence, your feet
marred with the jagged realism of the earth.
Climbing to the very top, you vehemently
sink your hands into the barbed wire edges,
while the blades welcome your fingers
with a round of applause.
The blood seeps down to the ground,
and the dirt horizon is muddied
with your own existence.

I blush my eyes above the water,
and only see the remains
of the tangible hopes
you bled in my arms that night.
You should have stayed,
in my lukewarm haven.
Because my past will seep
into your future,
leaving your eyes to always burn
with those best-left-forgotten moments.

You should stop by sometime,
I'm thinking about taking a dip
in my own indulgences.
The water is perfect,
but you know better than anyone
I've never left.