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Ever Circling Wolves
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One Joyless Night
I close my eyes and the air is still,
As if reminding me of my current state
Of immobility, I cannot achieve,
Nor rejoice; I am static.
I am warm, and yet I am cold,
I am calm, and yet I am nervous,
I want to move, desperately I wish to move,
And to scream; yet I long for a moment
Of calmness, I desire sleep,
And will have none, not now.
My head is bursting with memories,
Some are happy, some are not;
Some I can feel as if a cup
Of liquid happiness ran down my throat;
Others sting and hurt as if a knife
That is being twisted in the wound I call my heart.
One moment I would like to fight
This sense of overwhelming numbness,
Another, I want to further numb myself,
To clear my head of false hopes and lost causes,
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To administer anesthesia, to drown in dreams
Hopefully better than the one I feel like
I'm living in, for it hardly feels like life,
More like a permanent trance, and myself
Controlled by an external force.
And at times, when the dream fades,
Reality nearly knocks me senseless
With its heavy, pounding toil.
Let me not cry so long,
As to dry my eyes out by crying;
Let me not think so long,
As to sink deeper into my despair,
This psychic prison I build for myself.
Let me not know the joys of life,
As to save me from breaking down
When all fails. This I know:
I will fail.
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