Raindrops on my window pane
overcome with gray,
the outside world
doesn’t invite me,
my bed the only comfort
feeling the bitter pain
of leaving after
a sweet respite
of unconditional love
in close proximity.

As I pull the covers closer,
waves of guilt and
regret consume me,
I haven’t been
who I wish to be,
lost in shadows
pretending to seek an exit,
but maybe the sun with its
bright rays is too foreign.

Maybe I think I know myself,
but really haven’t scratched
the surface, one treasure
revealed at the expense of another,
the slow, steady climb
walking the same roads,
scaling the same rocks,
tumbling backward to
repeat it all again,
while not admitting
the crippling
fear of death,
pieces of me that
cannot be reclaimed,
visions past that
cannot be relived,
destined to see the same
scenery, and attempt
to find some new meaning,
purpose, motivation,
a thousand lives relived.

Emily C. Poésie © 2018

aatlas | Pixabay

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