Sometimes more often.

There are the times,
sometimes more often,
than maybe I might say,
pretending to be asleep,
alone in the house, yet,
pretending to be asleep,
and, you know, the eye,
oblivious to the sometimes
torment, of the heart,
the eye flutters open, and,
with the fluttering open,
reminding all the parts,
well, of course, the heart, part,
mostly, but really, all,
all of the body parts,
reminding them all, in some,
what would you say,using my
words, in fragile mockery,
that I would say, say,:
in some softly horrible moment,
something I'd say, it is,
all dramatic like I do,
I don't know, I mean I do,
always thinking like that,
silly, over-sensitive, but,
but back to the eye,
opening, opening,
reminding everything,
and nobody,
but me, that,
yes,the world,
is still here.