Languid
restless
I don’t even know anymore

I don’t have anything to say
nothing real
nothing fictional

Plagued today
a lack of passion
no inspiration to be had

stuck in vapid complacency
I haven’t chosen
not to feel

Anything at this given moment
would be salvation
from banal doldrum

I’ve slipped
fell
into pacificity
Observer at best
always just a passing wayfarer
part of the scenery

running a facade
a mask of my own image
sure I see myself in the mirror

but Who
Is
That?



Trapped
by the singular perspective
that is consciousness

I have no idea
what anyone feels
What another’s notion of me is

other than myself
and even then
I’m not so sure.

Does anyone
ever give me
a thought?

Who am I?
an Artist
a poet
a hiker
a biker
a walker at night

a friend
a son
a brother

An acquaintance
that guy
hey you

a fool
a loser
lost  

selfish
lonely
insecure

Maybe?
but who defines me
myself or others


Does it even matter
what I think
if I’m really not the judge

but then again
how will anyone see
what I am if I don’t know

Is there even
a place
for me?

Where am I going?
what am I doing?
Will I ever make a difference?

Will I ever carve a niche?
will I ever be remembered?
will anyone ever think of me?

Who will think of me?
how will they define me?
who knows?

I sure as hell don’t.