with languor, i remember the course of my disgrace, my decisions – my life’s odyssey. but melancholy doesn’t bother me. the ones close to me try to curb the confusion. alas, their efforts go wasted. their forces are feeble. their voices are numb, their words without cords; their credence is stale and i can just taste it. an axis of anguish weaves in my passions. a tarpaulin of sadness, of gloomy indifference. and all i can see are halls without exits, rooms without windows – hollow illusions. confused and delirious, i reel in delusions.
there is nothing more harrowing in this world than the enslavement of a free spirit. invisible shackles claw into my ankles, forsaking my desires. i’m stuck in one orbit, paralyzed by regret. i’m trapped. imprisoned. incarcerated in a cozy cocoon of narcissism. in a world where freedom is only a word. bound by destiny from which there’s no escape. asleep in a dream from which i never wake.
what is worst about this humiliation? is it that i was blindly fooled, tempted, tantalized into opening the wrong doors? is my worst fear that i am and will inevitably remain in reckless abandon for the short remainder of this purposeless life? or that perhaps i’ve yet to discover the limits of my misery? perhaps this is only the beginning?
i can’t find the rhyme in all my reasons. i’m haunted by the changing of the seasons. my past has just vanished from thought without warning. without linger. my future is boring, my dreams have been tarnished. mistakes i’ve made plenty – systematic, sequential, in order, chaotic. my lust for life is fake and insincere, nakedly self-serving, a pathetic veneer. it’s just an appearance. you’ve got to believe me. i’ve shamed the ones whom i most revere. i’ve become my own worst nightmare. my own worst enemy. i am lost. and i’m gloomy that i’ve lost.