Brief Lucidity, Interlude
These Buried, Unbearable Regrets
Is this what has become of me?
A mere shadow of myself, a mindless zombie-
This one fall evening, alone at home,
sneaking in the dark corridors, I can't help but whisper,
''I live here? In this empty, sad place?''
*
Of moldy bread and corner-y cobwebs
and twenty pairs of shoes, boots and moccassins
Distant, false echoes of laughters and incoherent words
and the house creaks and breathes, sucking in the silence
*
I have never felt more alone, more lost.
Here I am, living with friends, in the big city
But the summer dreams have died. With it, naive hope
In its place, a troubled, sick mind, crawling in circles
Of half starts and terrible ends
Perhaps at last a future, a place, for me?
And no, there is nothing here. Or there.
Or anywhere really, nothing for me.
*
But who am I kidding? I alone am to blame;
Families embracing me, I push them away.
Strangers warming to me, loving me? Go away!
The eyes of a beautiful girl, stop staring at me
*
I am my own downfall, and I can't change.
For if I do change, I'd be forsaking myself
What is there, really, but love and time, both of which I hate?
I know, after all, that these fleeting feelings are but a
brief lucidity, an interlude,
from this unassumed,
half buried despair,
all-consuming.
About the Creator
YonathanJ
I've been an avid reader for as long as I remember, and a writer since childhood. Crafting stories fascinate me. I write to share my outlook on life, that is often taken too seriously. Hope you enjoy my writings
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