Lachesism

Maybe I seek meaning in the press of sympathetic eyes Maybe within me resides a cancerous longing to shatter into a million tiny pieces Maybe I will finally matter once tragedy razes the last vestiges of normalcy Maybe I am a broken creature in a broken world, desperate to feel anything I am an insomniac in the moonless night, plotting the end of my universe I am a flightless bird careening from the top of a skyscraper I am a suicidal survival guide to the purgatory of my own mind I am what I've been made, a pale, pathetic being stillborn from the ashes of society If I but had the courage to run eastward toward the dawn If I could whitewash the blackened, soot-stained edges of my soul If I had a blind man's courage, a dancer's grace, a mourner's strength If sunrise brought resurrection from the death in darkness So I wait, watching the wolves that prowl on the edges of my consciousness So I dream, of flame and pain, of death and doom, of rain and sorrow So I watch as life brushes past me, a stranger in the parkinglot So I live, awaiting the devastation I know will befall me