I am powerless. It’s a terrible feeling of helplessness as the walls, sterile white, are caving in. Drifting out at sea is as awful as the day itself. I cannot perform any magic tricks for you. The rabbit simply won't pop it's head out of this hat. You can see the strings that are holding me up in suspension. None of my attempts to perform for you were real. Rather, I watched from the other side of the mirror like some kind of ghostly chimera. Was my dedication merely an illusion? I took hold of the reigns and pulled and pulled until my arms fell off. But the water still crept through the cracks in a ceaseless flood. I mopped up the drainage and the tears for days on end. They could barely be absorbed by the artificial sponge that seemed to be attached to my mind. I cannot write any more valentines for they have all been returned. The flowers that I dug up from the garden withered in the passing of vacant time. And I still shake at nights while the wind howls its stomach inside out. In a subtle hush, it carries your voice from the modernity of your dwelling to the the ancient decay of mine. Sometimes I whisper back as if my words will reach you at your closed off distance. And then it is back to square one, the place where hope has been cremated by your sudden and successful disappearing act. Only this one is not a trick of the light and there is nothing at all that I can do.
No comments:
Post a Comment