Exisiting in yet another space between
Two worlds, two lives.
Searching for some new meaning -
Or running from old demons?
Trapped in the divide, between
This and that,
anseo agus ansin.
Torn, tattered, stuck in an lár:
Teanga, life, baile, love.
Falling to pieces
Clawing at - clawing at what’s left,
What is left?
Left is the eight months since you did -
Not that that affects me anymore
(He lies to himself),
It’s just a marker, a buoy -
keeps me on course.
Struggling to see what's right,
What is right?
"If it feels good..."
I am uncertain - but I don't feel peace.
Conflicted, definitely, and yet I don’t cease
Meddling in things I have no right to meddle in:
lives and loves and people -
Human beings.
Can you not see the damage this will cause?
Not you, but those who you misuse -
You are an evil, twisted little boy
Trapped in this space between
Right and wrong;
My twisted actions and my convicted mind;
Him and me.
wor(l)ds blur into each other
i detest what i am yet i do nothing to suppress it
_________________________________________
dated may 2018 // ó bealtaine 2018
strangely prophetic.
