Do You See What I See

I think my maker sees me. And sees what I see. I think my maker sends me visions some nights. And I feel the pressure squints of forced projection on my face. I feel pressure. I think my maker is longing to impose. The vision carried through, lived in to make move, the lender of a sort of sight along mine. My maker stays living, by making agreements to stay herein. And I feel that I am the makeup of the particles all thankfully in agreement to be one. And this other, thinks to be older and more aware. And I feel insulted. That my maker feels to be more conscious than my altogether living. And sometimes, a chosen feels like a star to the fans, or prey to the predators.