I have imagined a moment, in which I come to dumbfound myself
You see,
I have never been surprised by my ability to patronise
to self-loathe, to dictate, yet also, heavily satisfy,
the advice seekers, dream weavers – my friends scattered around me.

-yet I am not seen by them, nor understood, not really.

We all wish to be perceived, to be viewed, to be read.
To be seen directly through, no confessions to be said.
To be held by one’s words, kind and forgiving.
To be told this darkness isn’t fixed, it’s only lingering.

But it is not always so simple.

I am unimaginable – exhausting and plain,
I complain of routine, yet reside just the same.
I speak of a cycle, monotonous and mundane.
I want to shift worlds! but stationary I remain.

How to escape this fucking youthful folly,
this haunting acceptance of days always passing,
and passing, and passing us by ever still.

The hunger of more always more, never resting.
Who lives to rest? Alas, rest we all will.

One day, down below, amidst the roots of our foundation.
But for now I am going- why sing of my own damnation?
I am in battle with myself and my stifling ambition,
It frightens me (all I could achieve) the power of my own creations.

I am empower, I am the power,
I am my own words and words I devour.
I am the next, I am the present,
I am the past and the girl lying within them.
I can be the only,
if I desire it enough.

But do I.

© scripturient__