A billion words I want to purge from my exhausted mind. Tear-drenched memories of magazine shots in check-out queues remind me that my love could be nothing more than an illusion from the past. Twenty-six years of a life negated by a cruel, dire fate? Oh "to be," and "to suffer the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune." Funny how the most beautiful and romanticized vision can so quickly succumb to this trite and sour reality. Today, I simply want to disappear. A lifetime of work, money, time and faith manifest nothing much more than debt to me and profit for others. A bitter goodbye to trust gives life to a healthy disdain for all that surrounds me. If there exists a "final straw" in this sick equation, I preemptively concede to fearing its consequences.
In the darkness, when rest is elusive and gut-wrenching pyrrhic blasts leave me tangled in knots between sweat-marred linen and a cold pillow, I clutch a rosary to my chest, pleading for this glass heart to finally and irrevocably shatter. Or maybe just one more epileptic fit to render my soul free of this (dubiously) mortal coil. I was made a liar, though I have spoken nor written any words contrary to the truth.
How did my process of self-discovery lead to the fact that I am literally no one? For that is all I am; a poet and one-man band unable to find my way back home. I am wary to close my eyes, as visions of bridges I once worked so hard to make stable burn and crumble into the sea. Like strings between two tin cans untwining, I still clutch the frail metal of mine for equilibrium. I do not seek pity, nor do I seek empathy. But I do beg for release. I only need to love and be loved back, for once; but until then I will sit alone in desperate want for peace of mind.
I see you and I miss you. And after all these years I still love you more than I have ever loved anything else... and still have no idea why. Your silence has left me paralyzed. So, please help me. Or please just let me go.