You

I wonder how many tire tracks
across my back
will be enough
before I stop caring
how many times must I endure
your belief
I'm already dead
a ghostly figure
walking hidden halls 
Dreaming that I'm lying in the street
being devoured by a pack of snarling dogs
and you walk away
and never look back
while being led by your insane
substantialist friends

Learning about projection
might save you
from acting first
then turning to others
to see if they approve
it would break your heart
if they were on their phones
searching for something to approve
Never noticing the corner-eyed tear
in your reflection
or understanding that
God seeks not approval
but revelation
joining opposites sans the self-satisfying
glee of dividing

Shouting from rooftops
you seek to feel yourself
as some sad kind of savior
yet lack the pure water
the prima materia
that would help you save yourself
from yourself