At this stage, I have to wonder
just what the hell is going on.
Climbing, searching, reaching
takes everything I’ve got,
and I need to know how much longer
my stamina will hold.

I want someone to walk beside me,
talk to me about the journey,
hold my hand and lead me when
I fall behind, don’t want to go on.

Outside, I guess it seems I’m strong,
but on the inside of me is nothing
but vapor, mist, cotton candy.
It’s as though I’m in a play about a facade
about a sham about a farce about myself.

Everything is a set, a scene,
an unsolvable puzzle, and I’m the missing piece.
Do I like what I have become …
illusion – falsehood – shell?

I think not.