Silk roses

I fear things that are no more real
than my shadow:
I let them take over,
thrive in an unholy glow,
send me to an early sleep
of desolation.
trivial,minute,ghastly monsters,
grains of sand that don't represent
anything
to the Universe,myself,
this life of senseless
meaning.
a pretty blouse,silk roses,emerald eyes:
I try to compensate one ghost
for another,
but there's no sun bright enough for
my eyes' heart...
in the end,what matter does it make
if I learn to "decompose"
a verb
or dream about kissing the stranger
sitting three chairs further
from me?
no such thing,no such thing...
I fear things no more real
than you and me.