Right now I’m nothing.
But next year that will all change
And I’ll be something.
Ground into the fucking dust.
Still, begin again.
This guilt stains my soul
Like the light of a billion supernovae
An ocean of bleach
Won’t shift this blemish.
I could scrub so hard
That I flay the skin from
My pathetic figure
And still it would remain,
A permanent reminder of all the
Failed fresh starts
And empty wells of motivation,
A planet strip-mined to the core
In search of minerals
Long since exhausted.
So why do I still tell myself
“It’ll get better?”
Why do I still insist on
On finding that which I know to be
That which I know forever
Taints me irrevocably?
Because it’s all I have left.
You can fuck your Einstein quote,
You can forget your prayers,
I ignore your speeches.
I carry on because I must,
Not in spite of this affliction but
Because of it.
I will keep on scrubbing
Until the skin regrows.
I will keep on mining until
This planet is destroyed,
And then I will find a new one.
None of these starts will be fresh,
But as I haul up the stagnant water
From those wells which reach
To the very centre of the earth,
I shall light a fire
Upon which this life will burn,
And with that fire I shall boil the water,
And those supernovae will coalesce
Into planetary nebulae.
And I will build the universe anew.
And suddenly, black.
Every door slammed shut at once,
Every broken window boarded up.
And as the light gradually returns,
The bars of my cage are illuminated.
I know them well; I built them, after all.
A glance towards the centre,
Where that yawning chasm opens,
Beckoning me: “This way for freedom.”
As always, I resist,
Pacing back and forth, back and forth, back and forth,
Until I lose sight of the way back, and forth-hence
Swear to never again fall victim to the trap
Which ensnares me, consumes me,
An empty promise.
Blow out the candles, one, two, three.
Back to black then, and still the rift calls:
Into the pit I tumble,
Never knowing how far I will fall.
Half a world away,
And yet you feel closer to
Me than anyone
Wish I was there now.
Text just can’t do it justice;
Hope: the first step on
The road to disappointment.
Still thinking of you.