Speaketh Not of I

Dear those who need to be the centre of attention, do what you must, bring down the walls if you must, leave hearts and more in ruins but speaketh not of I. I am a private man, who has come near you not, nor have I incurred your wrath, so avoid your usual lack of intelligence and think for a moment, just take your time. Maybe you can find it. An answer, like a light, appearing for your patience. A reward. I laugh, you don't trip, but you cannot see your way regardless. Pity and Tragedy walking hand in hand. Hatred, the magnet, you the iron fillings. Sucked in, lost, another one succumbs, falls into traps, and traps, and more traps.

I approach, from you can never know where. You would have to look, and feel, and care. You would need your eyes to aid your other senses. All the tools in the toolbox. No idea how they work. You can't see them approach. But you talk of them, you think you know, you miss them calling for the sound of your own voice. Some jigsaws are just not destined to be completed.