Is this a dream?
Are these words
Which represent more than words
Just falling out of my mind like whispers in the night
If this is indeed a dream, I might as well tell
My secrets
to no one in particular
Except I can't think of what secrets I beg to share
I think the biggest one is just that
I'm open
I'm plain
I have nothing to lose and nothing to gain
I've got no pain
I've got no joy
I've got nothing to win for
Nothing to lose for
And in this sudden realization
I find myself asking myself
How can this be real
That I've drifted so far away from myself I don't recognize my own face
And I have no more ups and downs
No more chances and hills
Valleys and spills
Life is flatlining like a heart monitor of a dead man
What have I got to look forward to?
A thousand days just the same
A million where I wake up and go to sleep unchanged
Like an endless river
Flowing to nowhere in particular...
I suppose if I am a river,
I'll like to take myself on a nice relaxing ride
Maybe I'll see a thunderstorm or a rainbow
That'll be exciting.
Still, this is going to be awfully boring, don't you think?
And that's where I'm stuck at.
This uncompromising line.
It's too good to be real
Yet too depressing to be good enough for me to admit it as my reality
And that's why I believe I'm stuck in a dream
Or a nightmare
But I will pretend it's just a nice dream
Because who knows
I might be stuck here forever.
YOU ARE READING
Unrequited Love for No One in Particular
PoetryI'm in love with no one, but with that emptiness comes freedom for my heart to wander along with my mind.
