It arrives and elicits
Questions not easily
Resolved, a perplexing
Serving of doubt mixed
With tentative hope,
A wish answered,
Respite from hardship,
Please let it be,
As of this moment
It isn’t and
Most likely
Will never be.
When it became apparent
That things would not
Be as I wished, I still
Held out hope,
Surely there is another way,
One that won’t hurt
So much, that won’t
Make me hate myself.
Many years later,
Everything remains
The same, externally,
Though inside I still
Harbor some slight
Optimism that things
Will change though
They likely won’t.
Each day passes
More heavily than
The last,
Procrastination being
It’s own catalyst,
Discomfort increasing
Until unbearable.
He resolves to do
Something,
At some point.
It happens again,
And I’m not quite sure
What to do about it.
One thing I know is
That there’s absolutely
Nothing I can do about it.
I’ll sit here and wait,
Hoping that it doesn’t
Recur, though it will.
It keeps gnawing
At my insides,
A dull intruding
Discomfort.
I try to make it
Go away but it
Makes itself at home,
Taking up far
Too much space.
I ask it to leave,
No answer.
It wasn’t always this way,
Things were better
At one point,
But probably not,
Knowing what I know now.
He can’t do it,
It would mean
Going down a path
Leading in an altogether
Unsavory direction
He would never
Consider but for
His desperation.
A summer morning,
Standing on a
Balcony inhaling
Quiet air.
Headphones on,
Listening to the
Song that makes
Him yearn.
A string of days
Blur into each other,
Slumped on a couch
Without a hope.
I’m not sure
There was ever a time
When idyllic meadows
Felt familiar.
Subsisting in twilight,
Inches from darkness.
An indistinct form beckons,
Sometimes less aggressive,
Always debilitating.
Moving toward it,
Struggling to remember
Who I am.
