Nausea.
It hits hard and I unravel
like a spindle,
My nerves breaking and stretching down to the last, thread-bare, drop.
Empty bottles detail the night;
Even these don't comfort anymore.
I am alone with myself.
Turning to face my accomplishments, I stare
Petrified by their lack of worth or meaning.
My mind is a dark room, the light has long since dimmed.
And you are yet to join me in this solitude.
Don't fret, it will come soon enough.
Quiet at first, then heaving
Smashing and crashing through your worlds own idea of itself.
Together we will be alone
And desolate but yet closer than two lovers may ever be.
Lost are we
Upon familiar ground,
Moving but stuck,
Reaching yet planted,
Close, alas apart,
Achieved and empty:
Loved. Unloved.
We are the last humans, my friend.
Never forget what it is to be alive;
Hold your Nausea close.
Aug 13, 2011
Aug 13, 2011 at 8:26 AM UTC
Nausea.
It hits hard and I unravel
like a spindle,
My nerves breaking and stretching down to the last, thread-bare, drop.
Empty bottles detail the night;
Even these don't comfort anymore.
I am alone with myself.
Turning to face my accomplishments, I stare
Petrified by their lack of worth or meaning.
My mind is a dark room, the light has long since dimmed.
And you are yet to join me in this solitude.
Don't fret, it will come soon enough.
Quiet at first, then heaving
Smashing and crashing through your worlds own idea of itself.
Together we will be alone
And desolate but yet closer than two lovers may ever be.
Lost are we
Upon familiar ground,
Moving but stuck,
Reaching yet planted,
Close, alas apart,
Achieved and empty:
Loved. Unloved.
We are the last humans, my friend.
Never forget what it is to be alive;
Hold your Nausea close.
