The Dread of Ye

Dirty mirror

I hate this feeling:
The dread—
This fucking dread—
Knowing the anguish to come
Now that this void I tried so hard to fill—
That was filled with your goddamn voice—
Is a void once more.
The ennui is so real,
And I abhor it so much,
I find myself raking at my skin
Just for a moment’s reprieve.
I’ve become a masochist,
Delighting in my own torture
As I stand in a room face-to-face
With the one face I never wanted to see again;
But my faith in myself is shaken—
Motherfucker, you moved me when no one else could—
And now I treat this void as a vat:
I pour anything and everything I can into it,
Even knowing most of it is poison,
And with each drop I become less myself
And more what I always saw in that filthy mirror.
I know they see it, too:
All those eyes on the street.
Their whispers somehow reach my ears,
As loud as jet engines that block out all else,
So I’m forced to stand trial,
Listening to all their ridicule;
And I, only ever asking how I fell this far,
While recognizing the one strand of hope in my life—
Yes, I’m talking about your goddamn voice again—
Is now broken, never to be repaired.



Alone in the world

Artist: Gabriel Maurano

The panic sets in:
My breaths stifle
As if someone is standing on my lungs;
My bones tremble
As though frozen to the marrow;
My heart beats faster
As if it at any second it will burst.
Everything within me
Tells me to run,
To lash out, to scream,
To point a finger,
To lay blame,
So that I might be vindicated;
But in truth, I know
There is not always someone to blame,
There is not always wrongdoing,
And though the knowledge
Does not assuage the pain,
Resorting to hatred
Will only fester more distance.
The panic sets in,
Just like it has before,
Just like it will again,
And standing aghast
In the face of this dread—
This insurmountable loneliness—
I will defy these machinations
That have warped my mind
And, never reaping reward,
I will still prove that I’m something more
Than anything you’ve seen before.