I'm Like a Mirror: I'm Nothing 'til You Look At Me.

So here it is: I don't know where I'm going and I wish for you sweep a flashlight out into the darkness to pierce the fog of where I'm headed.
Do you understand how close to you I am? Do you know how close I am? Do you know that I'm asphyxiating before your eyes? My face plump and ripe. Maroon with eyes like pinballs bouncing through whatever it is you've become. You look like this sighting of the Mother Mary on the underside of a bridge; a stain that we all hope is something with the attributes of mystery and salvation. You look like a brindled little expression of my aspirations two decades ago, where I spanned an ocean and looked up at the stars with a twinkle of bonfire in my eyes way off in the distance of my inner self. Like this set of plates slowly jettisoned into the pained sky with skeet in tow. Just before the pewter is shattered and the binged redneck with bleeding tattoos shutters with delight. You are a creation of my own. You are what I think people think I am. You are completely made up and yet I live my life by you. Wrens and larks keep flying in and out of the fissures in the sky and I don't see where they go or why they keep coming back. That darkness beyond this world is what we all put together; what we all work towards to self create our selves so we stop thinking our lives are going no where. The more I think of myself in this way, the more I become that way. The way, this ever winding path: like father, like son, like a rather excessive pun.