To live in ruins until I am

To W.B. Yeats There is something to my life that cannot be described as "lonely". But a forgotten detail in a missing puzzle piece. The secondary woman in the background For she lets the foreground desire shine. The construction of an unfinished building For even the demolished one has an audience. Like an untouched notebook For even the blank page full of ideas has some company. Like a shape with no lines For even a circle is surrounded. I drew hearts on the page this was written in For all the loves I let get away And the friendships I ruined For some quick shot of fun. I am to live in ruins until I am, My own apocalyptic Bethlehem Staring down on me. Only, do I feel its impending doom Only, do I see it deteriorating right in front of me. I am reassured about what youth I have left But at any present time do I not seem to live. Somewhat disconnected in a connected world Encompassed by distraction Succumbing to a fog of smoke in my head. Sleeping in my bed of dreams that’ll never come true. I am unsure But I am reassured of the time I have left. Time is bestowed to me as an acquaintance, begging me to be friends. But as I reach for its hand, it slips away Like the life I had Like the loves I hadn’t cherished. Even with time’s immortal existence Surrounding our souls Do I let time slip right past me Like a friend I once had.