born into futility, the futility of being normal; a formality that cannot be, achieved that is, for one such as me. the silence of a lone soul who lived behind the scenes, who hid behind - a necessity in order just to be. a place where non-existence became reality, but what is real when it ends in finality?
i tried to live in darkness, and darkness did live in me
and was one with brutal starkness when all hope went out to sea
to harken, harken, harken to aims that will not be
on planes bereft of pardons and moments of reprieve
an endless loop that hardens all resilience left in me
and to walk an endless moment, when moments we can\'t keep
emptiness, my only comfort, as i float upon these seas of abstraction; a world illusory where the mirage of hope, the fantome of being is not quite sensory. the life of the deported, free, one with the void, with all that is missing within me.