Upon meeting the subconscious self

An interrogative: If I would seek out purpose, then it could let me find you, If I had chanced that hope would by chance bring hope, well first through hopelessness I could be blessed with the chance of hope. You see, it was the facade of the hopeless that told me that I was trying too hard, in instinct, this instance, a release came upon me, a connection had come upon us, a desire to  care is what it had come to, "Your trying too hard," and so we left the notion entirely, Who is counting on us now ? who is so earnestly the angst which plagues your thoughts, who is it that you envision that you love, was it given by the one who'd bring you all your pain ? Whom you'd lost ?  (A Declarative) " I am so tired of these hypothetical scenarios that you conspire in which to receive a miniscule amount of connection that you have dreamt up in order to blame yourself for past shame that you cannot harbor. Grip this fact, perhaps there is no we in unapologetic contexts that you barter, the mask is one of your own design that you chisel and piece together so masterfully with the world that you wish to live in, and is stuck upon your face with the glue of a world that would lead you into madness, what definition of reconciliation would best suit you to mold your own ego into a vanity that is also one and the same, you make me think that you would take it to heart just to be simple ( for your life to be plain) what you've left is a moment of hardship, enlightenment that won't last for some peace and a night wish, Now, listen thoughtless, what you've left is what you don't want to see; Me, shackled deep inside of your brain ( A rebuttal) Lie still maiden care, inhuman court without reason, feel ease dormant vengeance, the mighty storm of renewal, Sight, wide as the bodies of water; in darkness, you are so bitterly flooded, you must believe that it also pours throughout my seams. I cannot hold onto hollow contemptment, like the prairies that slowly greet upon the plains. In this way I cannot hold onto this pack of flightless birds; a pact, that will also meet upon the same. These structures of interpretation crumble and are replaced with molten rock; archaically reinvented and renewed from hopefully copper flicked down a desolate well. It is a chance that I would meet with complacency that has shown it's face; a whisper, now declared, a certainty that broadens inside my soul as a dependently collective care. ( A notion) Loathsome oaf, I stir up thunder that will wake your dreams. This copper that you have reaped by the nameless passion in which love breaths is a pit of sand that sinks beneath your fateful feet. I will not allow us to fall back within the earth with grips of hope you wish to bequeath. Your mask of vengeance is played out with lips so narrow, you hide it well, intent still and forgotten until the day that you emerge to burn what you have reaped. Lying still( this turning mill)  believe me well as I plan while shackled, you have chosen to misguide my will. Time will tell, silent I flood your every dream. Until the days you feel the sting of patient empathy ( Sunk deep inside; My yellowed teeth).