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literature
Regret
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Literature Text
I can feel it slipping between
my finger tips, my bruised palms
slowly forgetting the fragility, and
grasping tighter – but to no anvil.
Floating.
I am always
Floating,
in between here and somewhere,
frightening.
I'm longing to be emerged in
what I once knew, a love, a kindness
that wasn't stolen, it was never mine,
but it has been taken by someone
else. I long only to be lost within
the place I had made, that wasn't mine.
Disease flows through these veins,
nothing more sinister than an undetected
ailment, lying still beneath the surface,
melancholia it's only symptom. Amnesia,
comes next – isolation from the feeling,
forgetting the touch.
I cannot remember what it was,
the fear or the longing, which ever it was,
nothing is real anymore. The mirrors
are all cracked, the windows of this
house are all shattered, and the floor
is crumbling away.
my finger tips, my bruised palms
slowly forgetting the fragility, and
grasping tighter – but to no anvil.
Floating.
I am always
Floating,
in between here and somewhere,
frightening.
I'm longing to be emerged in
what I once knew, a love, a kindness
that wasn't stolen, it was never mine,
but it has been taken by someone
else. I long only to be lost within
the place I had made, that wasn't mine.
Disease flows through these veins,
nothing more sinister than an undetected
ailment, lying still beneath the surface,
melancholia it's only symptom. Amnesia,
comes next – isolation from the feeling,
forgetting the touch.
I cannot remember what it was,
the fear or the longing, which ever it was,
nothing is real anymore. The mirrors
are all cracked, the windows of this
house are all shattered, and the floor
is crumbling away.
Sometimes you just need to accept the inevitable...
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