My imagination places me on the precipice of a giant void, the wind against my back. I could just turn around..
But I know the truth. I'm already at bottom. I search for the slightest sign of a transient light.. anything that would give me a reason to move. Anything. To make a change. Please?
But there is nothing.
There's nothing left of me. I'm gone. Lost.
The steps I take are mechanical and dull. A last feeble attempt at prolonging the facade that I'm still here.
This is my fault.
To think I used to be so driven. So awake.
I don't sleep anymore.
As much as I want to blame you,
or the wine glasses my lips have such affinity for,
or your haunting indecision..
But what's the point anyway?
I curl up on my floor, a heap of mud.
An inaudible sigh escapes my lips. A catch in my breath.
My attempt to choose which flavor of Kraft would carry my body today has failed. I'm out of time.
I'm late.
I'm always late.
Maybe I won't even go.
I hate it anyway.
But I can't change it.
I am powerless.
I tilt my head towards the shelf. I can't lift it. I can't force myself to lift it.
Hair falls over my face. Why am I so weak?
It's all my fault.
Was I ever enough?
I can't even hate you in the ways I wish I could.
Even hatred would propel me to stand.
But it won't, and I won't.
It's too late.
I'm always late.
Maybe I won't even go.