PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

I'm not even here anymore,

not really anyway, not in the sense of existing,

the 'existing' as we know it.



For my existance is merely a facade,

a shroud which conceals this being of sorrow

and softens the edges of this ever-present sharpness.



I believe I left a long time ago,

ceased to be who I had been,

now forced to become something I cannot control.



Seems I am always leaving-

Leaving behind foolish hope and dreams,

pushed into my mind corners to collect dust and wither away.



Leaving sillouetted shadows in darkened closets,

where illumination fails to bring them to light

and keeps them as only dusky and ghostly forms.



Leaving, sometimes, becomes easier than staying,

easier than pretending this life is kind

and easier than allowing that constant reminder of imperfection.



In my foolhearty mind, I believe

if I leave things in yesterday's wake,

they can't follow me into tomorrow---yet they do still.



They manage to stay on my trail,

hounding my heels

till I'm pavement weary and blistered soul-worn.



And now while I have left, many things, many times, many ways,

all I am left with

is a knowing that in reality, I can never really leave.