Dreaming, I thought
Of what could be, but certainly wasn’t.
Of all that was, and all that’s gone.
Dark in the room, that’s all.
Past memories; lost opportunities.
Life in Limbo – seclusion at best.
Something in hand, purpose questioning,
Drawing shallow lines of red.
Couldn’t stop that relentless questioning.
In contempt of life;
In arrogance of want and need.
No sense of purpose, not even a shred.
Walking thorough one’s life,
Unsure, maybe alive, maybe dead.
A living ghost, paranormal dread.
Senseless sitting, scared of true living.
Berating one’s entire feeble being.
Accepting of what I had become.
A world, used to coming wholly undone.
So, it seemed like the only way;
The only desire in the darkest of days.
Sitting, and drawing those bright red lines.