a lie within a truth, but mostly the other way around

it's many consonants and vowels
tossed around like a salad.. did
you enjoy the ham cubes? well the
vinaigrette was all yours, but i can't
help but wonder whose words these
will be?

the pounding of my veins is all i heard
in my ears today, a glance through my
windowpane--what is the outside world?--
and i remember it only rains in spain,
and even then, it falls mainly on the planes.
but you don't live on the planes, and i doubt
if you can hear my thunderstorm anyhow.
hypothetically of course. (i'm lifting an eyebrow
as i can't decide what i mean)

well the truth is my echo-location is stretched
a bit, and i can hardly hear your whispers
through the trees and snow and wind. (and
apparently the thunderstorm is an inhibiting
factor as well.) but the point is i'm drowning
in a drought, don't you dare ask me how that
is possible.. suffering rarely has a definitive
name, and even then.. some words mean more
than can be known.

i'll wander and he might gander, but nothing
could keep that other man from gandering
at the old man's ward. but then again, i doubt
any of this happened at all--i knew i'd be
companion only to the wind had i declined..
lies do not become us. but perhaps i'm too
harsh. because you claim things that i can
only faintly see... they all taught me that i
shouldn't see them.. so why should i gain
perfect vision now?

i wrap up my hurts into a tattered handkerchief
and remind myself that they couldn't be hurts
at all;; if i've been numb this whole time, how
have i felt the cold?