The offspring of my reveries play dangerously
in the unlit streets and thoroughfares of my existence.
They are screaming and scrambling
to avoid the approaching traffic
of tow trucks hauling choices taken,
of corollas coated in contemplation,
of Ferraris filled with men mistaken...
all speeding in a flying rage of frustration and lost hope.
Because of all this chaos and the vicarious
self-positioning of the children of my dreams
i close my eyes and strain
to see something,
to see someone,
to see beyond
a brother and a mother and a job and a book and a man...
to see beyond the trappings that i shackle to my neck...
so that i may see me,
or atleast an echo of me...
but the black void that obstructs my vision
envelopes my being and my purpose,
so i am left here with nothing to do,
nothing to say...
i am left here gripping onto words and
shadows of soliloquies
that mean nothing,
that beget nothing,
that are barren of purpose and impact.
These words that i write are meaningless,
yet they burden my being
with their heavy load of
cathardic caresses and
captured connotations.
The self-imposed burden that my being bears
wanders through a
desert of temptations and
forced reflections,
causing the tongue of my future to become
swollen and parched with the thirst
of a concrete decision,
so that i crumble and collapse
from the overexerted breath of my mediocrity.
Where will i fall when will i fall how will i fall how will i fail and where will i rise when will i rise how will i rise how will i raise the empty glass up to the firmament to be filled with the fallen stars of hope and comfort and love and a sort of subconcious sobriety, so that i...that I...may be full.