empty pages (solipsist soliloquy)

So many books to read so little time.
I try to speed read but my need to digest the intention
intervenes
and I must soak in every nuance
happening
between the lines
before we flip the page.

Again and again the story line
loops back
and in fact
I already know

this ending

quite well

but I may still plead ignorance
and indulge a little shallow bliss
before this veil
reveals

solipsism without purpose
is a daunting task

as is ceaselessly believing
your own inventions

I must remain

switched on

always

or risk falling back into slumber

I see
no other choice

I am an isolated neurotic inarticulate mirror
just like everybody else

at least in between the pages
there is no pretence

the story book knows it is contrived
knows it's characters are not alive

and the reader knows
they are only getting
a cheap imitation of the real thrill

but once our gaze flicks back
to this dimension
we get our heads stuck on a little too straight
and start looking for the narrative
again

that is when the plot really begins to unravel

because the foreshadowing has already come

and I may plead ignorance
to indulge a little shallow bliss
before this veil
reveals

the empty nature
of a soul