through
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Sometimes I feel like I’m playing a game.
First, it’ll be spin the bottle,
But with a bit more than kissing involved.
Then, it’ll be wheel of fortune,
But with every spot a jackpot or bankrupt.
Then again, sometimes it’s poker,
Except I can’t look at the cards,
And I don’t know what play will win.
It makes me long for the good old days,
Back when there was no metaphorical poetry,
And I played Tetris and Pong.
The last dying breath I long to feel,
The final gasp of glory I long to steal,
The open eyes, glimpsing Paradise,
The spark dimming and dying,
I long to taste it,
Revel in it,
Bathe in it,
Draw its insipid grasp around my heart,
Till I am there, lying,
Alone, truly alone,
My goal reached,
My proudest achievement,
As I watch the spectre come for another,
And simply smile.
Lost amidst my thoughts and
Caught
In my actions.
I can’t see where I’m going,
Except for a blind point
Of colorless light,
Showing me where
I must not go,
Leaving me with a burden
Heavier than I can think of on my own,
Weighing me down with choices
That only I can make,
Decisions and actions and words
Made and taken and spoken
Only by me.
Apathy invades my thoughts,
Leaving little room for life.
I never have, really.
Once I wrote something resembling one,
But it was not only poorly written,
But misinterpreted.
Then I tried again,
And failed too amazingly well to mention.
So now I sit,
And although what I write is nice,
It lacks spice.
The final gasp of glory I long to steal,
The open eyes, glimpsing Paradise,
The spark dimming and dying,
I long to taste it,
Revel in it,
Bathe in it,
Draw its insipid grasp around my heart,
Till I am there, lying,
Alone, truly alone,
My goal reached
As I watch the spectre come for another,
And simply smile.