Worth 1,000 Words

I wish I knew what to call it,
how to put it into words,
what every fiber of my soul
and desires
to express.

I don’t want your money
or your fake celebrity
or your annually released toys.
I don’t want what you think
is living
or life.

I don’t want your Heaven,
and you can’t banish me
to Hell.
I’m already there,
whether I want it
or not.

If I am included,
then where is my partner?
If I am loved,
then where is my joy?
If I am an observer,
then why can’t I see the stars?

In a vacuum of words
no one can hear me scream.
Covered in gray,
the colors have faded away.
Across the chasm, flowers in bloom
say, “Hello,” and pass me by.

Is that why the stars won’t appear?
Is that why joy refuses my company?
Is that why an other is only for others?
Can I not see?
Can I not feel?
Can I not be alive?

Am I alive?
Or am I defined by myself:
without reason,
without cause,
without a worn picture to stir
warm memories I’ve never had?


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