Focus-Pocus Glory-Lied

Indirectly, the anecdote, made poisonous
Finding a morsel of oneself within
The outward narrative clinging to be
Or not to be when set aside inches
Or millimeters away from the next
Reason to proclaim, 'i exist'
Passionately changing from grain to tiny grain
A smudge in the blur that mimics a bigger picture
I'm not crying. you're crying