flat niche
Is it a reflection of me?
I absolutely could've done it.
Lacking imagination, it seems to be,
My soul's nothing other than a dark pit.
It was only my choices that kept me,
To blame anything else would be hypocritical.
3 months in an unfamiliar place,
In solitude, I found both strength and fear.
This city is as much of a stranger to me as I am,
Not once trying to cross the ever-present border in my mind.
Stuck in a small bubble,
Suffocating with my own kind.
A bitter-sweet pain prods my conscience,
For I know I'm not alone in this bubble.
They're all so close yet completely out of reach,
The only thing we have for each other is grievance.
A fragile soul destined for heaven,
Damaged beyond repair due to grief and anger.
Mourning the loss of those still walking this earth,
Praying between tears and silence.
A youth spent obsessed over grief,
No other emotion comes close to it.
Stuck in the hole I dug for myself,
This solitary confinement, a room reserved in hell.
Out of place no matter where I am,
Still desperately clinging into ideas,
"Perhaps this city will help."
Yet here I stand, cowering and running back.
Burdened with knowing that things won't change,
Getting through the hours and days becomes my priority.
Opting to stand back and watch my own life from afar,
One day, I'll wake up and be 50.
I have asked myself the same question a thousand times, to no avail.
Why can't my mind prevail?
For years, this has been set in stone,
I am forever destined to mourn.
stuck locust