At the heart of my thoughts
I am not I
Im in exile where I thought citizen,
Now the realization makes me a denizen
In a whirling terror
Of an unloved life;
an unlivable life.
I’m a pariah torn from the despondency
Of endless torrents
Of plagues that exceed the reach
Of my conscious pander with
So, what now?
What will accept and harbor
My inhabitable essence?
Will I drift the earth,
Wander the inevitable purgatory of
Feeling like all I did was fill time
With dead skin and wasted breath,
Feeling like an imposter,
All I did was be born…
Or I could simply to back
To the sleep lf my unimaginable dreams.