As though amplified by a megaphone,
the seed of loneliness calls to me, my name
shouted aloud for all to hear, carried upon the wind
to destinations farther than originally intended,
those who never knew of my birth, questioning
the identity of this unknown, sought after stranger.
It should be sweet, but it’s bitter,
the taste of happiness, and no matter how hard
I try to force a smile, the masquerade
accomplishes little more than nothing
within the frozen swamp that is my heart.
The ceaseless pain fails to subside,
and like a timeless tsunami, drowns my lungs
in froth and liquid, over and over and over.
Perhaps I am not trying, but my willingness
is certainly not the apex of the problem,
my longing to participate halted by a past,
consumed with agony and deceit, betrayed
and blistered by the throes of life and love.
After so much history, no amount of happiness,
real or otherwise, could surpass the impassable
trials that parallel these footsteps,
so what point is there in trying to force
what cannot dare be done?