A Conversation Debased

He said, “I don’t want to be complacent again, but I want to feel anything.” Something, anything; a part of being passionate. And I wondered how you could ever be made to feel complacent, you intense being. To whom are you lying? There’s two of us here and I can see right through you, chasing yourself around corners in the place you’ve fenced yourself in. But it’s funny, you remind me so much of me. That’s why I’m running, not scared but strong, and as blind as a bat, to a different backdrop; something countless miles from anything that serves as a memory of me, of who I used to be. That’s what I keep telling myself; complacency is a personal hell, built on the years of where we tend to dwell. So, fucking go; don’t stand still in the rain, telling me how much you hate getting wet. Run for cover or learn to accept what is beyond your control. I’m getting wet too and don’t know what to do.