My Never-ending Story…

A Poem on December 7th

Unperson Pending

--

Image Credits: Pixabay.com/user:VISHNU_KV

I woke from my dreams and looked around. I didn’t see a home. I saw a hell from which I could not escape no matter how hard I tried to effect a positive change.

I took a shower and when I was finished, I looked in the mirror. I didn’t see life, only the hollow spectre of it, an automaton running on fumes.

I went into the kitchen to eat breakfast. As I looked through the cupboards, I didn’t see sustenance; only the burden of a ritual I must perform because the discomfort of hunger is worse than the alternative.

I turned on my computer to watch a video. I didn’t see entertainment, only a temporary distraction from the ache inside my mind, the tedium and uncertainty of a life lived on the low end of society.

I dressed and went for a walk, as they said it would help ease the pain. I didn’t feel relief at the prospect, only reservation and anxiety.

I walked down the street past my old school. I didn’t see happy memories, only the shadow of inequity and social shame, the ghost of a child needing acceptance, but receiving scorn for his naivety and misplaced trust.

I meandered through the park and spied families enjoying the day. I didn’t see happiness, only the hole inside my heart, a heart that had atrophied from the inability to rectify the scars of indifferent dysfunction and religious abuse.

I walked past the candy store. I didn’t see sweetness, only a fleeting, momentary respite from the tedium of a life lived in constant depression and loneliness.

I walked along the waterfront, watching as the waves lapped against the dock. I didn’t see the sea, only the prospect of drowning as a means to an end.

I strolled past the bistros and bars and coffee houses along the edge of downtown. I didn’t see opportunities for fellowship, only the false faces of fair-weather friends long gone, who only saw me as a means to an end, an exploitable resource.

I walked past the town square, past the giant umbrella sculpture and the opera house. I spied a pair of lovers holding hands. I didn’t see love, only the long string of failures I had endured in my quest to seek validation from the fairer sex.

--

--