This space lies between the present and my future desires.
For some it is heaven on Earth.
Others think hell can’t be much worse.
A cruel place indeed you are indeed.
Supposedly all are born equal.
That’s funny considering some come out of the womb with a silver spoon.
Some are born with no need for a spoon because they have no food.
Some are born into oppression; to them, the concept of free will is nothing more than a mirage.
Inequality, a tragic fact of reality.
In this space we are expected to be happy.
However happiness is an illusion for many.
They feel as if light at the end of the tunnel is nothing but a myth.
Time after time they take their own lives hoping to find solace in death.
Depression, a crippling ailment of reality
Dreams are said to be omnipotent.
However, I’ve seen this place crush too many for that to be true.
Hope withers here.
This is the cage known as reality.
Have you ever felt a burning desire?
Not for money, power, fame, or glory, but for a person.
Have you ever loved someone enough to take a bullet for them?
I was once possessed by this desire; it would eventually drive me insane.
My mind void of thought in her presence.
It feels as though my heart is using my chest as a punching bag.
Somehow I managed to put together sentences.
From this day a beautiful friendship would ensue.
Through all of her struggles I remained by her side.
In me she confided her deepest secrets, to the grave I’ll take them.
With her I was, even when the reaper was the one she called her closest friend.
One day I would confess to her my love.
Despite being ever loyal, the feeling wasn’t mutual.
Months would pass by.
She would shed ocean after ocean of tears.
Lover after lover, they would all hurt her.
To them, infidelity was nothing.
She gave them her heart; I guess the feeling wasn’t mutual.
It should’ve been me; alas, the feeling wasn’t mutual.
The sun peeks through the cracks in my blinds.
Its warmth awakens me.
I rise for another day spent in a seemingly unbreakable cycle.
This street corner is almost a second home to me.
Never have I despised a residence as much as I do this one.
I stand on the corner beside the alleyway.
This is where I do business.
A customer approaches; with him comes the guilt I am burdened with every day.
He is gaunt, so thin the wind could blow him away, his hair resembling a wild dog.
I don’t want to sell to him but I must; my family needs food and jobs never call back.
I would die before I let my daughter starve.
“You got the stuff?”
Despite only saying four words, he told me a lot.
His voice is one full of pain, sorrow, and loss.
This powder he feels, is his only escape.
I take the money and place the bag in his hands.
As I close another deal, I can’t help but wonder what kind of man it makes me.
I put food on my family’s table by destroying someone else’s.
What kind of father does that make me?
I’ve never shot unless I had to but I’m sure my product has taken a life or two.
The ground beneath me is red; I wonder whose blood covers these bullet shells.
Those I sell to eventually become nothing but shells.
The guilt induced by the consequences of my line of work has turned me into a shell.
The birth of a child, I’ve always been told it was a joyous occasion.
In my youth I would’ve believed that to be so.
That naïve notion would die with time.
Upon entrance to this world I was called a bundle of joy.
Today I feel as if I’m merely a burden.
“I’m proud of the man you’re becoming”
Despite being said to me by those claiming to love me most, I know these words to be nothing but lies.
Some would tell me to believe it’s just tempers flaring.
I however, sense much more.
My siblings and I enter.
With her face being the stage a scowl takes the center, too disgusted with the crowd to even wave.
I can feel her disdain seep into the deepest crevices of my heart.
Bundle of misery seems to describe me more accurately.
She begins to speak; my name takes its usual place right beside the word useless.
Someone should’ve told me existing was a crime.
Even though I am told it was planned, I know for sure my conception was a whim of lust.
Bundle of joy, no, just a mistake.
Many have pondered life and what its purpose is.
I, however, have spent more time pondering what life would be like were I not in it.
Pondering purpose has never done much for me considering I am nothing more than a failure.
What purpose could there be for someone like me?
I aspire to better the entire world, yet I can’t even help those closest to me.
I could never meet them, so expectations are the bane of my existence.
Constantly falling short, my presence is nothing but a disappointment.
No matter my efforts, failure is destined.
The hand of guilt rests eternally on my shoulder.
Guilt for not being able to bring happiness to the ones I love.
Guilt self-directed for not being all I once dreamt of being.
Guilt for being a waste of time to everyone I’ve met.
Why should someone such as myself search for purpose?
Such an inquiry would only lead to further suffering.
It is time I accept the truth, that truth being that I am obsolete.
Where is the cheerful spirit I once held?
What happened to the glow in my eyes that used to be?
My heart was once filled to the brim with hope.
As I grew older that person slowly died.
A child dreaming of wealth and castles.
A man barely scraping by, sometimes without food.
The fire in the boy’s soul could be felt through his eyes.
The man’s eyes are eager to close for the final time.
The young one wanted to change the world.
The elder just wants to survive in it.
Optimism replaced with betrayal induced cynicism.
The innocence in the youngster’s soul left long ago.
With age came the evolution of my mind and withering of my heart.
This is the passing of youth.
The sun shines no longer as nightfall approaches.
Rain begins tap-dancing on my window.
Save for the elements, silence rings.
By the light of the moon I begin to reflect.
I remember times of youthful euphoria.
I had not a care in the world save for essays, fun, and slumber.
It seems as though bills and taxes are all I have time to worry about nowadays.
If only the hands of time could be turned back.
I remember friends I no longer know.
Where are they and what has become of them, I wonder.
I can only pray that life has been good to them.
Some I hear, have already met death.
I think of myself, for life is uncertain.
Will I reach the dreams I once held dear?
Will I fill those who love me with pride?
Will I die before I can do any of that?
Much to my dismay, the answers are held only by father time.
My eyes grow heavy as I tire from pondering.
I lie down to begin a good night’s sleep induced from moonlit thoughts.