The Second Person Poem by Insane and luving it

I would like to have a word with you,
in here seems nice and cosy.
Why do you do the things you do
with your pretty poise and graceful posy
of people following you everywhere.
They float in the clothes and swarm in the air
surrounding the rootless forms of speech you throw at them
with effortless speed and beach the stalls you seek.
I don't think that you're listening to me
you drift in and out of conscious being
she who looks but does not see,
who hears but does not listen.
You are the second person that
I talk to when I need to chat
about the impulse of the world
you find is spiraling in and out of your hands –
why does nobody comprehend the mistakes He makes
with ifs and ands and silver light washed on the white sand;
It slides so gently like the night into our arms.
You hear me not because I harm
the central ego of your heart
but for the plastic wants of those
who look at you in anguish.
For they are right.