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The Psychopathy of Everyday Life


I hyper-cathect, but it’s what connects us,

Your craving for love, my excess of it that spills out onto you –

Your distance, or mystery, makes the perfect cathexis.


I watch you, then hide! This behavior perplexes.

It’s masochistic, the need to see and evade you too.

I attach too hard, but that’s just what connects us.


I think it’s your eyes, those dark green hexes,

Your green-black eyes crack my red heart blue –

Iris flecked with mysteries, the perfect cathexes.


Freud’s word was Besetzung; Strachey called it cathexis.

It’s a thing that pulls passion right out of you, catches you,

Till you stick, you cathect. It’s the force that perfects us,


Till our wires cross fiery and dumb desires vex us –

We go too far, kiss when we shouldn’t. I look at you

Across our great distance, my curdling cathexis –


Oh this crushing love is not the fun sex is.

It’s tragic, really, it’s our life-force that wrecks us.

I hyper-cathect, but that is what connects us.

Your mystery and distance make a hopeless cathexis.

Michael Seth Stewart