the lost one
wandering down the shadowed path
2 days since I’d seen the sun
panic, and then
peace

they call it the tranquility of the damned
certain of catastrophe
awaiting apocalypse
expecting the eschaton

numbness floating on the sea of nepenthe
and morphine
lots and lots of morphine
to remember
to forget
to sleep
to dream

The lost one
heedless as a lamb
tangled in the wrack and bramble
wolfhound hunting
darkness creeping

with sheep-like disdain
I am silent
not so much accepting
but just dead inside
a psychic miscarriage, perhaps
an aborted soul
if there is such a thing

oblivion

is it such a terrible thing
to not know that you don’t know
to not know pain or sorrow
to be senseless and unheeding?

sure, joy and happiness may pass me by
but how is it different from this life?
I watch the triumphs of others
love and hope
nothing more than sitcoms or staged drama
this feeling like hydrofluoric acid
etching the insides of my harrowed heart
cauterized
sterilized
half-baked
and burned

a one-winged dragon
with decaying memories of the wind and the sun
there are worse things than being dead

the lost one
keening in the darkness
singing a silly song to myself
waiting for fangs or the scythe
there is waiting
this endless waiting
as photons streak across the neverending intergalactic void
I am waiting
for God
to decide
to glance this Way

just for a microsecond, maybe

one thing
I ask for one thing
to weigh against the millions of things
I have lost
to thieving despair

one thing
and maybe I might yet be found