Elucidating Questions

Tomorrow on ice if we can pretend to be alive or find the normality long enough to watch and focus, when it’s been too long.

The mind never quiets, the words pour out, every day is a repeat. The one song is over, erased by the summer, goodbye to it.

Instead it is just nothing, perhaps should have left it alone. To repeat every day for the rest of it, while the world moves right on past.

Now every day is a lie written about someone else. Never shown, it’s never been good to see.

Not me.

Every day awakening, every day the same, every day nothing.

Always unseen and unknown.

Trying to keep the promises made stupidly by a fool who believed in love and trusted the words of nothing from nobody.

The foolish feeling of having found one when one didn’t want us.

Do not disturb. Why can’t you be better than this?

How to send love and write of love and describe love not felt, received, or acknowledged?

Saying I love you I love you I love you I miss you you’re beautiful and I want to see you and I want to go to you and you’re so far away it hurts

Would only work for the beautiful, the perfect, the worthwhile, the worthy.

He deserves better than this. He deserves better than me. He could have anyone he wants.

And I’m wrong in every way.

Someone tell me, what’s the point?

How many more days until I am set free and he just shows some mercy?

Serendipity would be the end.

This has been a long mistake and he will never love me.

And yet it continues every day, nothing will change.

Every day.

The rest of this long and meaningless life, that had meaning for one month, and then tried to keep it.

When it’s long lost, and he would never want to meet me.

Master says awaken. Master says turn the keys. Master says find something lost.

Master says return to dreams.

Millions of people, billions of continuation.

9941 days.

9941 days lived, forgotten, erased.

Soon ten thousand. Ten thousand days and every day is just one more.

One more day spent alone after waking in a tiny room.

One more day of circles and solitude.

This isn’t what I wanted, but every one else gets that.

This isn’t what I needed, but every one else gets that.

This isn’t worth remembering, one more day which will be forgotten.

Master says this is life.

What a waste of time and space.

Where is it I wonder as I stare in the general direction of it a tug and a pull in the direction comes out of no where can’t ignore it like a scream,

And all the if onlys never change the way it stings and screams that something wrong must have been done at some point somewhere to make it make sense,

The melodies elsewhere the same words and sounds, style and design of self and the original being of the words that are always

Always the same. And the end of nothing when silence only brings more of this what could I have done to deserve the kind of hatred it would take

To go on like this.

Never seeing that the asking for help would be seen that way, or that writing in silence while the world ignored every day,

Would somehow lead to what is this now.

Is it a rock? Or mountain?

And if truly it had been seen that while doing this day after day after day after

Neverending

Unable to look away or pretend or think or feel or do or be or

Live, in any way.

Yet the one at fault is me, why does there have to be? Yet again this goat left behind to burn.

Day 134.

I never learn. It’s concealed, perhaps, beneath the exhausted ending of a life not started or the realisation that this truly could be it.

That around in circles every day since the start, will never recover the feeling of freedom in my heart.

Shot dead one night in the loss of hope, wasn’t allowed to have context, but wasn’t allowed to think or feel.

The one who knows nothing, the one who holds all the cards, the one who folded long ago and said enough and I’m tired, the one who will continue to rise as the years are still many,

The one who is left every day, yet is expected to forgive and forget.

The one who is still the most important, so that I suppose is that.

What place is this, when taken out of the running, and the one they will run to is the one who is stunning?

It’s an interesting opposite. If there was one to visit, if there was one who wanted me,

If there was someone to thank and someone to hold on to, if there was a thank you that mattered or if feelings had merit

Sending love to people I don’t know,

Why other than to know they should be remembered more.

Being forgotten, fading away, there are more so if one is gone who cares?

A day to remember that somebody made you, to remember that somebody didn’t really want you,

To remember that there is someone to pick up what is left behind, to remember that that’s all its ever been.

Must have done something terrible to deserve this lifetime.

Perhaps only apologies for the rest of time.

So when time dies and trying not to remember the depth of the wounds of

I don’t have one

Regardless if it’s disrespectful when no one has any clue,

Thank you for years where I took care of them in your stead,

And now I’m nothing.

I thought there would be a day we could reach across the expanse of this divide and explain

Or convey, or acknowledge there’s a human being on either side

I thought that all arguments would have a moment when the other person would see that there’s a person who is hurting regardless, and acknowledge the fact

I thought that every disagreement would end up okay at the end of the day.

I thought that admitting fault would bring admittance of fault.

I thought that when saying one did wrong, the others would also admit that wrong was done.

And yet, each time, each day, each second, the demand like one side should give in

Like there’s a clear answer,

To human behaviour and needs left unanswered.

Or that context and meaning taken unknown, the feelings of answers that will never be thrown.

The gears turn in the machine, the cogs, the springs. It doesn’t stop to rest or take a break, the wheels turn.

Things that must be done, things that need to be said. Things that must be written, things that must be read.

One more day on the never ending cycle. The days that just turn, the light and the dark. Hundreds of days of the doors being closed, hundreds of days of the neverending.

Merely turning the wheels, merely sorting more strings, merely doing more research, merely existing.

And what does it matter, tomorrow comes anyways.

So what’s the difference between today and yesterday?