I realize now how foolish I was.
I thought I would never be back here.
But there is no mistaking that I have come home for the final time.
What a wretched place this is!
It feels so primitive, so endemic,
that my mind must have been born into this deathless sunset.
Though a citizen of dejection, I was never
less than agonized in my nation.
I redundantly tried to disappear,
to escape with every piece of artificial joy I could steal,
But I was always captured by shadows smarter than myself,
And a frantic despair more purposeful than my own.
I thought I had triumphantly escaped this last time
but realized I never went anywhere at all
when I felt my dark, listless heart still moaning with each beat,
and the helpless cries of my struggling hopes
choking, choking, choking on death, death, death.
What a fool that lives beneath this skin!
I persistently close my eyes to pretend I am
somewhere, anywhere other than home,
but my eyes are demanded open by the shadows that
Still teach me the message of worthlessness,
Still thieve the last suggestion of light,
Still sing to me the lullaby of a concluding sleep
I hoped I would never crave again.
I am not made of stone.
Fade to black . . . I’m sick of trying.
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