I don’t know if that’s what I am, but
I manage to get along as best that I
Can, muddling through each and
Every day, feeling lost, and alone,
With so much to do, feel, share, and
say.
But I’m quiet.
I know many would laugh
At that preposterous thought,
Because quiet,
Is something
They’re sure
That I’m not.
But that just goes to show,
What the clowns already know;
That – if you put enough garish paint,
On the side of the face where the pain ain’t,
Nobody notices
How you ache inside.
Tears pushing through sorrow,
Choking back the sun, with this
Empty ache echoing forever
Inside
Each
And every one.
I’m tired,
It goes without saying, too,
As I don’t want to be a burden,
I guess I’ll just carry on
Seeing
This through.
I may not always be alone,
But, yes, I am lonely,
For this space I rest my weary head
Is for me
And for me
Only.
That’s not so much a choice,
As a curse three times nailed,
The postman has come and gone,
My effort’s been mailed.
And I’ll keep on trying,
Keep pushing on through,
Because the alternative
Is not an option,
So trying
Is just what I’ll do.
I’ll try to find happiness,
Try to find one other,
Someone to spend time with,
A soulmate…
And there I freeze,
Because I – aside from the breeze,
Blowing softly across my knees,
As I listen to the traffic outside,
Going by, as normal as you please –
Am no longer one with this world,
If I ever was.
The tinnitus in my ears, and others’ eyes
Running for the hills as I try to read lips,
To discover goods from ills, is simply an
Aural manifestation of what I have known all along –
I am outside of it all; boat and swing
Missed, fog-man distracted by internal thought,
Left swinging in the emptiness, swimming inside,
Sitting lonely on his couch,
Having forgotten to have cried.
