Something of a Vers Libre Rant.
Me?
I'm two hundred and sixty pounds of fat
muscle and bone.
ligaments and nerves.
emotions and freewill.
six feet and three inches
of longing
and of hope
that is bound to be lost
I alone am no hero.
but then again,
alone,
none of us are.
solitude brings out the strength
in only the mad
the frantic
the hopeless
and the dead.
strength lies not in
the whispers of the dead.
is there an after-life?
is there a god?
a heaven?
a devil?
a hell?
a nirvana?
a sanctuary in the clouds; the earth?
i could die on the streets,
as many are
leave no impression on anyone
where is god then?
millions die.
where is god now?
so many christians;
yet so few are christ-like.
i see the hypocritical
the sad
the greedy
the desperate
the mad.
I am one that longs
for love
yet at the same time
i absolutely love the feeling of being sad
above all other emotions.
a rainy city,
overcast and chilly everyday
of every month
of every year.
an apartment,
on the top floor.
my future self
staring out of the window
with a glass of scotch
a teenage alcoholic turned pseudo-celebrity.
my job being listless and endless,
just as my life.
long and un-happy.
this is not what i portray in my life
to my friends
to my love
to my family
they know nothing,
only suspecting.
And yet here i am,
climbing the ladder to a happy little life.
secretly longing for what so many scorn.
loneliness is my blanket and my secure little life is my pillow.
teenage alcoholic turned pseudo-celebrity.
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