Truth once told me
will one day kill me.
So off I set to find Un-C
yet upon meeting him
I could only blame Stress.
Stress addled and full of bile
haughtily stalked towards me
and after a few choice words
told me to go accuse Denial.
Denial of course was always near
I tried as much as I could to look him in the eye
but behind Denial stood Fear.
i feel the edge threatening to crumble off
asking what will i do when my feet touch air?
will i reach for land or will i leap?
i feel my being breaking apart inside
asking will i give up or harden?
will i reach up or will i fall down?
i feel my heart letting go
asking will i trust it again
or will i just let it rot and bloat?
will i let it soar again or pin it to its place?
the journeys i await to take
in case of tragedy
lead me away from home
lead me away from the comfortable known
a spurning? an ending? a new leaf turning?
monastic? ecstatic? or just another further contrived version of static?
all this waits upon a mishap that will leave me no more willing through its hap
but leaves me no closer to peace
that i seek
by awaiting an excuse to leave.
if i dont want it too much
will it become within reach?
if i don’t hope it will come true
does it not have a better chance of becoming real?
if i always look for a way to survive
then cannot i not share it with another?
if i accept that i will never be happy
then surely i can hope that my few moments not to be snatched away?
why do i sigh (a little relieved)
when fear comes tumbling out of your mouth
your urgent words collide into each other
in their haste to express what i hardly have the courage to sum up
and therefore reply with silence
(and a deeply quiet marvel)
at how insecurity is such an odd leveler
an overlooked equaler
The look of disgust
dripped from your eyes
but i was trapped
and he was lost
my breath caught
my gasp too soon swallowed
shame shot through my senses
but i was held in place
and he stayed lost
in and out
why do we seek the acceptance of strangers
the ones we’ll never meet
the ones we’ll never see
the ones we’ll only know
through what they perhaps thought