Another night where I put pen to paper
where I sketch with words the outline
of my never-ending, inutterable scream
wrapped in velvet falsehood to dull its edge.
Another night where I wander forlorn
searching, without hope for catharsis
in two-dimensional words that can never
pierce all the realms my anguish occupies.
Another step down a road through ruins,
crafted expertly by my own destructive hand.
Cloak me in this emptiness.
Stop me looking in the mirror.
Hide the ugly thing
that looks back at me.
Why must I exist in the resonance
between opposites?
Why can I not simply Be?
Friend and Traitor.
Lover and Tormentor.
Potential and Failure.
Ever I preach Hope and Possibility
even from amidst the ruins of
my own making.
I feel eyes on me and I beg for
their judgment as a man in a
desert begs for water.
They only watch.
I beg that they should pronounce
their hatred of me. I have so much of it
that they can borrow some.
Still, the eyes only watch.
Even in this simple thing I do
not receive the punishment I
deserve.
Because, of course
there can be no judgment.
The cosmos does not exist to exert morality on us.
It can only watch.
So, I go on punishing myself.
I look into the mirror and yet
I live on.