Lately,
words have been failing me.
Lately,
it doesn’t seem like there
was
or is
or will be
any point
in anything that
I have ever done
or would like to do.
Lately,
the world has been failing me.
And even when it wasn’t
I feel like it always was –
more lost than ever before
because even the dream’s
been temporary lived and gone.
And there isn’t a new one that could replace and stay.
And the old one doesn’t go away,
like a ghost haunting an old house
wanting something
and yet it’s just too late;
Echoes of a dying wish,
the life is gone brother!
And you don’t matter,
you don’t have any matter in the first place.
Lately,
I can’t speak.
Because I don’t really think I have anything to say.
I feel old in my youth
as if I have already lived way beyond I was supposed to.
Lately,
I have discovered a bit of joy
in being
at an utter unease with everything perfect
or could have been perfect.
Here I am with the evening breeze
romanticizing the distant chaos again.
Lately,
I have been feeling weak –
A familiar face,
hanging around with a dictionary definition
ensuring that any sort of hope doesn’t escape
and corrupts me all over again.
Caution:
Don’t fly.
Because you are not a bird.
Hues of the autumn
amber, orange, brown
like leaves you fall to the ground.
Dissolving,
take away this pen
take away my immortality
I don’t want to be remembered.
I don’t even know what I am.
So why should you?