Flashing of dire images,
Like ghouls in the Mirror of Regret.
Temptation sulking in red-soaked-pools,
Knowing that if I fall, there are no nets,
And the walls – they’re far, far too steep,
Covered in layer upon layer of bleak memory.
And I look upon the canvas, devoid of paint,
As I frantically search for that rosy paint-
A medium for expression;
But it’s oblivion… not a single brush,
Nor a pencil.
Nothing to imprint the white.
Emptiness – alone – lonely.
Traversing corridors – back and forward,
Forgetting the doors on each side,
Forgetting the chances that wait beyond.
Needing to walk back into space without electricity;
Or, at least being duped into thinking so.
Please, do something, I was caving,
Mites ruthlessly bit, and the ticks latched without remorse;
Eraser, white pen on white paper.
Each stroke heavier – breaths taken on Mars.
My laugh filled the empty stretches,
Bleak, and self-depreciating – honest.
Painfully, wretchedly, horrifically… honest.
Heard by not one soul.
Breaking the boundaries of sound,
So loud – silent – vacuum sound.
All these years,
Time ticking like a clock at half-speed;
Time spent, time… honestly wasted;
Not wasted honesty.