The Truth About Loneliness

Loneliness
Is sneaky
It can
creep up
on you;
Startle you;
Catch you
Off-guard...
You stumble
You flail
You try
To stay
On your feet
And ground
Yourself
Or convince
Yourself
That you matter
But then
Before you know it
You find yourself
In a crowded room
Full of people
Who know & love you
And yet still feel
Crushingly
Painfully
Inconsolably
Isolated
And alone...
Because
The thing
About loneliness
Is that
It will get you
No matter
What you do
Or who
You’re with
As long as
You feel
Unheard;
Burdened;
Unsupported
And unloved...
Not by anyone else
But by yourself.

Unbiased Mirror

Days go by

In a hazy blur.

Bland mornings give way

To sleepless nights.
My energy is sapped...

My will to live

Long-since dead & buried.

The days of my life

Are a study in mediocrity...

I feel a void inside my soul;

An all-consuming black hole.

I am become

Melancholy, personified...

My days, as gloomy

As a dull moon 

In a starless sky.

I am as lonely
As the last individual
In an extinct species;

Devoid of purpose,

With a burnt out passion

For life...
And most of its “charms”.

I ask myself

Why am I alive?

What possible motive

Do I have to go on?

I try to push

These thoughts away;

I try to tell myself

That there are those who care...
But then I chance

To glance at myself

In an unbiased mirror

And my reflection

Makes my stomach lurch

And I gag and heave

As I gaze at this creature

That I truly despise...

What’s the point?

Why does anything matter?

How can I ever be content

As long as I have to live

Trapped with this ugly person

With no way out but death;

An escape much more likely

Than growing to love & accept him?

I try to find a silver lining;

A distraction; a lie; 

Empty reassurances;

SOMETHING

To make me feel again;

To make me want to live...

But when I actually open

My usually inexhaustible 

Bag of tricks

I find only a crooked crutch;

Barely functional, for now

And some bandaids

And a gun...

And the thing about guns

Is that you can use them

To kill monsters.

Realization dawns on me...

And as I look

In the mirror again,

I can clearly hear

The gun calling out to me.

Bite-sized Pain

A nagging thought
A niggling feeling
Turbulent dreams
Always tense
Always clenched
There ain't no rest
For the anxious.

************

She turned a page

and another...

and another.

Some pages were

More memorable

Than others

But it was 

The final page
That made her weep

And stuck with her
Forever more.

************

Parched throat

Cracked lips

Blistered feet

Dying of thirst

In a scorching desert

Yet still smiling

As I remember

The moist feel

of her soft lips on mine.

************

Men look with horror and pity

On the poor spider who chooses

To mate with the Black Widow...

For what unfortunate soul

Willingly sacrifices himself

For the sake of a few minutes

Of raw, uncontrollable passion?

But little do they know

That the spider had already done

All that he had set out to do;

When he offered himself

To his cold, merciless mate...

For now he would truly be part

Of his lover, and forever more

They would be joined together, as one.

************

Dear diary,

I met a great girl today.

Dear diary,

I asked for her number.

Dear diary,

Our first date was amazing.

Dear diary,

It was a magical first kiss.

Dear diary,

I think I'm falling for her.

Dear diary,

I've never been this happy.

Dear diary,

We've just had our first fight.

Dear diary,

She stormed out, today.

Dear diary,

We haven't talked in days.

Dear diary,

We made up.

Dear diary,

We had another fight.

Dear diary,

The fire is gone.

Dear diary,

We broke up.

Dear diary,

I think I'm fine.

Dear diary,

I've never known such pain.

Dear diary,

I'm very depressed.

Dear diary,

I think she's with someone.

Dear diary,

I tried to kill myself, today.

Dear diary,
I need help.

Dear diary,

I will never move on.

Dear diary,

I'm sorry I haven't written in months.

I met someone else today.

I am ready.

************

His hand traced the outline
Of her neck and collarbone
The most fleeting of touches;
The gentlest promise
Of more to come
She braced herself
As his hand slid down
She bit her lip
And arched her back...
She closed her eyes;
But when they opened,
His ghost was gone...
Withdrawn to rest;
Inside her heart
Leaving behind
A broken promise.

************

He bit her lip,
His forehead against hers
Staring her in the eyes;
Hungrily caressing
Every inch of her
As their legs intertwined
And rivulets of sweat
Ran down their bodies
But in his moment of climax
When he closed his eyes
And his body trembled
With ecstatic release
It was someone else he pictured,
Crystal clear in his mind's eye;
Whose name still reverberated
In the recesses of his brain...
But he dared not scream it
As loudly as he yearned.

The Abyss

Hope and love are queer, fickle things.

They can be the wind under your wings; lifting you higher and higher above the clouds until you transcend all it is that makes you mortal... for in those precious moments, you are not only soaring high above the ground; but you're also miles above your insecurities and fears and dark reality. You are ungrounded; in every sense of the word- and while it lasts, you feel serene; invincible; unshakable; as majestic as an eagle on the hunt.

Then, fall Caesar.

In the blink of an eye; your biggest strengths become your downfall... for the higher you were, the more terrible the drop. There are no chances of survival. There is no struggle to stay afloat; or a desperate scuffle as your wings try to find an updraft to keep you airborne... for there is no wind; no air; no atmosphere to begin with. You start choking as you drop like a stone; down, down, down... and the clouds cast their shadows upon you as you descend; embracing you like a lover, where mere seconds ago, the world was sunny and bright.

And yet, death will not come; because the spiral never ends.

You writhe and twist and turn, and yet death’s sweet embrace still eludes you. Nothing you do can snatch you from this horrible reality in which you're trapped... there is no relief to be found; no distractions; no reassurances. Sleep becomes a distant memory; friends and family and loved ones can no longer reach you, for you are miles below sea-level by now; alone in the oppressive darkness; unable to comprehend emotions other than emptiness and a pain excruciating enough to make you long for death with every cell in your body as you continue your endless tumble...

Into the bottomless abyss of depression, misery and despair.

Why, then? Why would you ever allow yourself to love, or to have any hopes for a happy ending? Is the high really worth the inevitable pain? Is it still all about the journey rather than the end, if the end is unyielding bedrock; towards which you are hurtling at terminal velocity? What if the end is always on your mind; always within sight; like a maddening mirage that terrifies you, yet one which you know you will eventually reach because you know you have to pay dearly for the moments of happiness that you managed to steal from fate? What if the price of your arrogance is this torture; falling at maximum speed and yet somehow merely inching towards your doom while fully conscious and aware of what's happening? What if you are cursed to forever be in limbo, halfway between the worlds of the deceased and the living; not truly dead and yet too broken to live?

 I can think of no worse destiny... and yet even now, I find my wings spread wide as I climb higher and higher into the heavens, buoyed by the very feelings I'd thought to banish.

But the winds are shifting, and I've just felt their first warning snap as I lurched downwards unexpectedly.

This will be the fall to end me.

The Moth and the Flame

The love of the moth for the deadly flame

Has long been pondered by many a man;

The moth ridiculed and mocked and scorned,

For the endless passion it has for its doom.

Never has anyone asked themselves...

What the silly moth might see when it stares

Deep into the heart of the shimmering flames;

That makes it crave their fiery embrace?

For though the flames burn hot and bright,

They keep many secrets of their own;

As dark as the dancing shadows they cast 

To warn the wise and lure the fool.

Though flames be pretty and warm and alive,

Cackling with untethered joy and zeal

Yet they consume all those who dare

Presume to think themselves their match.

And though the blaze may bear the moth none,

Of ill will or hate or spite or rage 

The flames will always ravage and raze

And the moth will always lose that game.

What makes you yearn for death, oh moth?

Do you truly hate yourself this much?

For you to choose to be enthralled

By what you know will bring your end?

I like to think that there is more

To this painful story than it may seem...

Could it be a tale of passion and love?

Could it be true that the moth knows more?

Perhaps the moth fully knows the risks

And made his peace with death and pain

For he well knows that without the flames,

Life would be too dark to live.

And before he burns; by God he’ll live...

The passion in his eyes as scorching hot

As the dazzling flames at which he stares

And where he knows his journey ends.

And while his fate he’s always known,

He also knows he’ll never doubt

Or have regrets about this flame;

The best mistake he’d ever make.

So save your tears for when he dies,

And let the moth enjoy the dance...

For though he ends his life ablaze,

He wouldn’t have it any other way.

Tired

I am very tired.

Tired of the same issues that have plagued me since I was little more than a toddler.

Tired of the constant battle with anxiety and depression and the insane lengths to which I go to deal with them in a borderline healthy way.

Tired of being in constant need of reassurances that -while genuine and heartfelt- ring hollow and sound increasingly impatient on their 375th recital.

Tired of being a burden to those around me- especially those I care about the most- who have to put up with these ever-present insecurities.

Tired of life on paper-thin ice; the structural integrity of which gives way under the slightest pressure from the most fleeting and insignificant of triggers; plunging me down into the bottomless icy depths of mania, anxiety and self-doubt... which I have experienced for every day of my life and yet will never grow accustomed to.

Tired of being the same old me, with the same issues and doubts and fears and insecurities and pain that I’ve always had; always shifting from one form to another but never going away completely.

Tired of being a negative influence on the lives of those I love... testing their patience and resolve and compassion for every single second of every single day until they finally have enough and decide to go away.

Tired of being so emotionally unstable and so full of self-loathing that I can still manage to shed tears on a sunlit beach on holiday with two of the people I care about the most in the world.

I wish I could make it stop. I wish there was a button I could press or a lever I could pull to shut down 90% of my brain so I can just live and enjoy my life as effortlessly as countless others seem to enjoy theirs.

I’m so very tired.

Tired of being me.

New Memories

Disclaimer: I write this knowing full well that I am voiding my earlier vow to stop using this blog as a platform to broadcast my innermost thoughts and feelings... however, what came to my mind this morning was an idea for a poem so bittersweet that it could be the crowning jewel of this blog, if written properly. I therefore choose to think of this not as a broken promise; but as a last hurrah.

We'll see how long this one lasts.

***********************

A wistful smile plays upon my lips,

As I sit down and reminisce

About ancient times, now long past...

With nary a chance of going back.

I wonder truly what I wouldn't pay,

For one more chat with my granddad...

Or one more leisurely childhood stroll

With my parents on our way to the zoo.

 Just one more night in our old house;

And maybe a steaming mug of hot tea,

With a black and white movie on an ancient TV

As we huddle beneath the sheets in a storm.

Or one more carefree day at the beach,

As dad and I try to build forts in the sand

Then my sister and I go for a quick splash

Our shrieks of joy too loud for my mom.

Perhaps just one more taste of school,

That eternal blight that children face...

But now it doesn't seem quite so bad;

To spend all day with friends I miss.

Friends I'd made, with no other choice,

Who'd helped me through some terrible times...

And friends who'd since become like family;

But whom I sadly never see anymore.

The childhood fights and teenage angst;

The tears shed in bouts of pain and rage...

I'd do it all again, if it would give us chance

To be stupid, happy kids together again. 

Or perhaps I thirst for times of rebellion,

When we dared think we had a good chance

To finally make something of a once great land;

To raise our heads once more in pride...

Before it all came crashing down,

And all our hopes and dreams with it...

Slogans turned to cruel jokes by fate

Faces once more stamped on by the boot.

Then one by one, our peers and friends...

Were either killed or jailed or had to flee

And we were left with ashes of dreams

As ghosts of their memories roamed our streets.

Or is it a more recent flame that I crave?

A blaze to consume all other flames...

The embers of which will continue to glow

In my heart forever; till the day I die.

Just give one more day with her

To tell her how much she'd meant to me;

And how I've loved no one else the same way;

And how sorry I am that it had to end.

Just one more chance to make it right

But life doesn't quite work out this way...

We've both moved on, to better things

This wish will never come to be.

Just one more, one more, ONE MORE...

Too many priceless moments; gone.

If I sit here and write them all;

I'd still be writing on my deathbed.

Truth be told; I am frankly spent.

I simply have no more room in my heart

For the pain and torture that is nostalgia;

The unbearable longing to days of yore.

I've had enough; I don't want any more

Wretched echoes of the past to keep me up...

For there is only one thing I can say with certainty;

That I am afraid of making new memories.