i sit in the center of an empty room and spill out everywhere
all that i am slowly seeping down my side and
painting the floor shades of maroon, amaranth and despair.
i can't gather myself, i claw at myself in a frenzy
trying to salvage what i can. a subtle anger emanates
through my fingers, longing following suit.
emotions stay with me, however.
the good, but moreso the bad.
they are what fuels this orchestra.
they sit in their place reciting words i've
heard spoken millions of times over.
ones of joy sit prettily, but others roar over
them with an unmatched power that leaves no choice
but for the initial to cower to, plaguing me in the quiet stillness.
over time i've learnt to let it flow freely. sure, i make
an effort to contain it but it's fixed in its nature.
as if my sole purpose is to drown in myself. there's a certain
melancholy to its tale. this fate follows me through
all my lives; a soul stamp. and so i stay sitting,
losing track of how long ive been a puppet in this show.
after all, i'm the only one that can see it.