Another Saturday
Drifting away like
the steam from my bath
through a crack in the window's insulation.
Everything seems to escape me,
My breath
My awareness...
Time.
And nothing seems to matter,
Because there is nothing to matter.
And I feel so empty,
And it's not that I'm incomplete,
But I'm not yet started.
Flesh and bone,
Maybe room for a soul,
Somewhere in this hallow encasing.
Maybe not meant to feel,
Maybe not even meant to be.
But somehow I keep pushing,
Or keep being pushed.
As if I had any bearing
On what happens to them,
Or what wouldn't happen
if I weren't around.
He's asked me
to open my eyes.
I told him I was blind,
But he wouldn't accept such an answer.
I,
Flesh and bone,
Drove him away,
As I do so often.
Things seem to escape from me easily...
They drift out the window,
And I watch,
As they turn to condensation.