Member-only story
Undesirable
A Poem
i’m on a cliffside in dreams
and wondering where I've been
in landscapes too great to miss,
in highlights too wonderful to know.
my life is passing me by, it seems,
as each day clutters in on itself
in sweeping motions of meaning,
in self-made sounds of satisfaction.
i’m on the moors again —
in another life, in another illusion —
till i’m basking in moments
where my ghosts aren’t there.
i write the stories from my brain
even though they don’t mean a thing —
and they’re selfless descriptions
of different things, different lives.
my life is a windmill, it seems —
bound to stay in place,
bound to keep its propellers going —
yet always knowing it’s going to be there forever.
i’m in some safe space of my mind,
a therapy session for the ages,
till i can’t help basking
in moments creeping.
