Thursday, September 18, 2008

The Unlivable

It's all over all the time.

Every morning I wake up thinkin' of it
Every night I go to sleep thinkin' of it
Everything else is in the background,
This, clear, gazes at me mocking,
This life is unlivable ,
This house is unlivable,
This whole city,
It's a matter of past and present,
There was something in the past there,
that I have no more.
And every move,
every face,
every cry, every laugh
seems strange now without it,
Where do I run to?
It comes with me everywhere,
into the toilet,
into my poems,
when I am jumping from dream to dream.
It is in the walls,
in the air,
It wants to catch me and
hit me to death.

What I had was
-how do I describe it? -
I will never have it like that again
suddenly my whole life is in pieces
and whichever piece I cling to,
It will still be shattered.
It is huge,
this pain.

I have finally decided;
This week,
I will jump from a bridge
deep into the healing river.

But I still do have a dream,
since my soul is young and
death, not promising;
that one day I will wake up
you'll look at me in the face and say:
It was none of it real.


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