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My Empty Room
#AloneInCrowd
I’ve heard when you die your room is filled, standing room only, with others who’ve past before you, to assist in your transition....For me, there will only be…
My empty room
Sometimes I see myself,
When the waters are still,
And I wonder what happened
To that time-
When I once was a boy
And could always enjoy
All the small things around me
That I could see.
Now a man,
With a heart so dark,
And a bakelite soul-
Strains to remember-
Something.
Anything.
A small fragment
Of that time before-
Of that life I lived
Before the flood
Of stupidity-
Of induced insipidity
And attempted
Chemical self-correction.
I begin to dissolve
Away
And erode the
very foundation
Of my humanity;
At the firmament and
Foundation of my soul-
My strength and
My ability to
Scintillate,
Colorful and Brilliant
In a mid day's sun-
Forever filtered and
Polarized-
Reduced
Into a pathetic
Scale of gray.
My self-perception
Of grandeur and
Genius
Forever muted.
Silent and
Sallow,
I disappear
Into a final night of
Oblivion and
Namelessness-
Any value I saw
In myself is now
Forever missing.
Forever gone.
The endless din
Of my manic voice,
Forever silent.
It has been replaced with
Remorse.
Regret.
Sorrow,
And fear.
My reflection is now
Skewed and
Slanted
Into something
Unrecognizable.
Unwanted.
Disgusting and
Demented.
A rippling display-
Changing
With each passing
Crest or
Trough
Through my waters
Self muddied-
Vile and ugly,
I warp and
Distort
Into a new
Monster-
Into a leering
Gargoyle
On a precipice.
I am nothing more
Than a waiting
98 1/2 degree
Bag of fluids,
Anticipating the eventual
Bursting,
Eruption and
Expulsion
Of what was once
Me
My cremation-
The end
Of all that I once was.
I am no longer
A link in my
Family's chain of
Human continuity.
I am the last
In a long line
Of human
Evolution, yet
I have left nothing
Of myself
For tomorrow.
There is no one
Here to greet me.
And, much like when
I was born-
I want my Mom.
I am cold.
I am confused.
I want to cry.
I am afraid.
I am a vile
Screaming gargoyle,
Standing
On the edge of a precipice,
Forever nameless.
Forever feeling sorrow.
I am dying.
And I am alone.
K. Carlson
©2011
Nippular Arts & Music
Sacramento, CA
© Daxyl
I’ve heard when you die your room is filled, standing room only, with others who’ve past before you, to assist in your transition....For me, there will only be…
My empty room
Sometimes I see myself,
When the waters are still,
And I wonder what happened
To that time-
When I once was a boy
And could always enjoy
All the small things around me
That I could see.
Now a man,
With a heart so dark,
And a bakelite soul-
Strains to remember-
Something.
Anything.
A small fragment
Of that time before-
Of that life I lived
Before the flood
Of stupidity-
Of induced insipidity
And attempted
Chemical self-correction.
I begin to dissolve
Away
And erode the
very foundation
Of my humanity;
At the firmament and
Foundation of my soul-
My strength and
My ability to
Scintillate,
Colorful and Brilliant
In a mid day's sun-
Forever filtered and
Polarized-
Reduced
Into a pathetic
Scale of gray.
My self-perception
Of grandeur and
Genius
Forever muted.
Silent and
Sallow,
I disappear
Into a final night of
Oblivion and
Namelessness-
Any value I saw
In myself is now
Forever missing.
Forever gone.
The endless din
Of my manic voice,
Forever silent.
It has been replaced with
Remorse.
Regret.
Sorrow,
And fear.
My reflection is now
Skewed and
Slanted
Into something
Unrecognizable.
Unwanted.
Disgusting and
Demented.
A rippling display-
Changing
With each passing
Crest or
Trough
Through my waters
Self muddied-
Vile and ugly,
I warp and
Distort
Into a new
Monster-
Into a leering
Gargoyle
On a precipice.
I am nothing more
Than a waiting
98 1/2 degree
Bag of fluids,
Anticipating the eventual
Bursting,
Eruption and
Expulsion
Of what was once
Me
My cremation-
The end
Of all that I once was.
I am no longer
A link in my
Family's chain of
Human continuity.
I am the last
In a long line
Of human
Evolution, yet
I have left nothing
Of myself
For tomorrow.
There is no one
Here to greet me.
And, much like when
I was born-
I want my Mom.
I am cold.
I am confused.
I want to cry.
I am afraid.
I am a vile
Screaming gargoyle,
Standing
On the edge of a precipice,
Forever nameless.
Forever feeling sorrow.
I am dying.
And I am alone.
K. Carlson
©2011
Nippular Arts & Music
Sacramento, CA
© Daxyl
