Last day I rise, unfulfilled.
Desire unaccomplished, request unmet.
Like a joke destiny has played on me,
    To leave is to stop pretending, stop loving.
Yet what thing else could I do?
Cower in this unfamiliar place,
Like a fragile infant,
In disgrace?
Or simply speak to the caretaker of this place,
That one ought not to live who doesn’t desire life?
I cringe from the idea in fear of recognition.
I cower in horror of what may be.
    Love pretend meet undesired end.
At last, a dead end.
Neither path forward nor backward, stuck in time.
Wandering and lost,In the dream we call living.
Bound to endless identical halls.
Sealed to an eternity of loss.
Now, upon this place of reflection and peace.
Naught remains but a stained past.
The blinding color of red.