to mention his name

You were a word I would present, throwing you out into the open: Here, he is! And then people would acknowledge you, stunned, admiration pointing their toes out, reaching to the vision like painting a canvas - the importance of it, I mean. I wouldn't even say all that much. Just you was enough for them. Now I toss you around like an epiph- any I had, just a bit too late. They scrunch their eyebrows, or cackle at the way you would simply plop out of my mouth and onto the ground. Nobody watches you now. The spotlight grows on me, blinding. Huge, warm, rolling over me, suckling my bare back with sticky lips, hands as paws clawing the base of my neck, and I relish and despise the glances they make now. The you-shadow grows still without my tending to. Here, he was, now crawling up my peripherals. De-painting my bones of importance. I cannot shake you. You are the vision regardless.