Everyone looks forward to being able
To take vacation and travel again, and
I do too, until I remember what it’s
Like to travel alone, and the hope recedes.

A million suns surround
And encase.
Impossibly bright and
Such pressure…
It forces me inward.
To that core.
To that part of myself
That won’t break.
But bends and compresses.
Like rubber,
Or the bottom of a
Shoe that treads
Across broken glass and trash.
The wreckage
Of a life lived careless.

They seem happy enough
Though I can’t understand them.
The things they enjoy and value
So Alien.

I like to pretend that I’m
A stranger in a strange place.
It makes rationalizing easier.

An easy excuse
To be alone and
Disconnected.

It’s that sunset at sunrise
Brain flickering to life
To live…
To live alone and longing
Longing to share that sunrise
With someone who wants to share it with me.

Because what’s the point of life
Of living…
If the best you can do is cower in
Self-serving hedonism.

When the day is done
Truth wrung from every effort
Every retort replayed and analyzed
Quiet materialized by soft breathing and dim lights
All the little spites and manipulations suffuse my thoughts
From thirsty thots to insulting, smug *******
Viewed like disaster through rosy retrospect
Memories reflected by perfect hindsight
Petty it might be, but
I still glut on the shame.

I don’t know which is worse
Feeling cursed by winter’s cold isolation
Or future’s immolation by past’s failure.
Like some sailor in lonely seas
Knowing that perfect she, just doesn’t exist for me.

We always equate success
With mountain tops
As if ascending the rocky spires
Is where you want to go.

It’s probably a bible thing
Moses and commandments
Seems silly, saying **** like that
Like God is on a ******* mountain.

And what do you get from success?
Money, comfort, happiness, love?
No, you get what you’ve always had
As any mountaineer can tell you

Nothing but views and cold at the top.