I’ve never wanted to be much more than just me,
But more than this ghost that the world does not see;
More than a number, a grain in the sand,
More than a man with nothing but plans
To detach from it all.
My dark guest visits when distractions depart
To whisper sweet sermons of dying and art;
Delicious delusions of my form wrapped in tarp
Or of grasping the wheel and turning it sharp
To welcome the river below.
My black cloud that follows wherever I wander
Rains down on me these dread thoughts to ponder.
A mind that races with these dark thoughts that lurk;
While wondering wilfully what way would work
To silence this niggling desire.
Convinced this state of constant hollow craving
Works only to prove that life’s not worth saving.
Inside, a void, but is it created by us;
The emptiness felt by those who’re not pious?
Will He welcome me into his arms?
This disgusting world that burns and bleeds
Serves not us, not our basic needs.
I watch and weep at the state of our lives
And let my dark spectator grow as it strives
To escape this broken damn nation.
Maybe the truth is much deeper than breaking;
Broken am I, but is the damage my making?
Smashed into bits and feeling so blue,
Perhaps Humpty Dumpty just needs stronger glue;
Something to clear out my head.
In truth I do not wish to die,
It’s just when viewed from up so high,
We really all just live, exist
Until the day that we desist.
And on that day, when my life ends,
My demons will become my friends.
C H Mackie 