Let Me Speak

Within My Numbered Days

Within my numbered days

Uncharted stars peer from about

And peek through endless miles of darkness

Seeking for an occasional gleam of light

Watching for the faintest hint of an anaphoric statement

Etching towards the merchants of ambiguity

Longing for the whitewashed promises of imperfect souls

Yet

I still count the days that go by

And the years that I yearn to have

Longing, longing, longing.

I await a presence

A sign to tell me that it's okay to live in this state

With no mood for happiness and no room for sickness

Yearning, yearning, yearning.

I cry for the souls that have their fates written within scrolls made of
brain tissue

And shy away from learning to read the words

Because my illiteracy takes the place of my unwanted ignorance

To look into their minds

And find what they had truly believed

About this life.

I seek an untouched abacus

That already has its pieces lined without removal

So that I may count down the days that I have yet to experience the irremedial moments of life

In this state of living

I count down without looking away

For fear of losing count and forgetting how to breathe the breaths of allusive knowledge while knowing that my existence is just another part of life-

And that I will come and go

Like people walking along a sidewalk

Hardly passing a glance to the person in their peripheral

For fear of losing the integrated beneficence that reality is like a puzzle

Fitting together so long as the pieces aren't missing

But becoming incomplete

Without all of the pieces present

And beginning to lose count of how many there were to begin with

And forgetting about it wholly

Like losing count on an abacus.

Within my numbered days