the same old truth, times three.

there are days that i’m not sure; nights that i lack solidity
is there ever a point that i truly know beyond doubt, beyond uncertainty?
i can see separation, it is between me and you
and considering that i can’t feel you, see you,
hear you, it certainly causes me despair when
i think of your lack of signature in my unfinished portrait
i ask myself, if this is what life is-
a journey of experiences and serving what we do not see
i’m afraid that my past has built around me a fort,
a wall of “protection” that won’t break down to trumpets
i want to wake up from this nightmare
even what (or who?) i thought kept me safe
led me to deeper sleep, or the want for something darker
bitterness is a vise around my lungs and ropes around my neck
i cannot take another deep breath.

take two.
past, revisited again and on numerous occasion.
i ask myself if i’ve changed, and i don’t reply.
then again, it is strange to talk to oneself.
i like this wordplay, this game i have
to make me forget what it’s like to feel,
i cannot remember the last time i cried out of sadness
or laughed out of joy and slept easy
i lack vigor and my eyes are sleepless
my heart is rusty and my tongue slow to speak.
i ask myself if i’ve changed, and to that i don’t reply,
because i know the answer:
my face tells two stories,
and i wish to be one person again.