It was not the first day,
I do not know if it would be the last.
Somewhere I hope it to be,
but I keep telling myself I do not.
The spring leaves are grey,
the blossoming flowers look wilted.
the water of the river have gone still,
there is no mound in the soils.
In this vast open space,
surrounded by the great north mounts,
a sense of claustrophobia looms over,
‘Why is it that I hate it?’
that Id rather be trapped in a crate,
the air it not breathable,
like a vacuum- it empties my lungs.
One ear hears the pumping of my heart,
the other- the voices that I can not reach,
there is a world before my eyes,
but I see it vanishing into dust.
Maybe it is the poison talking,
fighting against that last ounce of will I have.
How much longer can I hold on-
I do not know.
How much more do I want to know-
I do not know,
the sight before me is void of all that I want,
desires have joined the cracks below,
dreams- now shinning next to the star above,
in that dilapidated house, ‘round the city corner,
in the ruins of life, I still had some life,
now standing at the peak,
I am deserted with none,
it is just me that is alone,
are those that I once held close, now gone,
building homes with blocks of smile,
while I rot away into the core.
I do not blame, I do not deserve to,
the world was too kind, and I was not,
with the last bit remaining, I solemnly wish,
the wind that arrives one day,
carry me away, leave no scent.