Archive
09/01/08
The Lie
This Labor Day night, I find myself celebrating all alone, If, that is, I'm capable of finding myself, at all, Locating even the vaguest approximation of my being, Within this shadowy forest of lost souls, Where I've been seeded amidst invisible trees. To say that this is a strange evening is to say too much; It's not even an evening, really, but a void, A space without origin or destination. For an endlessly empty weekend, I've occupied my mind, with useless excuses For perpetuating the lie that I, one microscopic speck, Am worth living for, long enough, anyway, To die in the prime of my inutterable loneliness, If, indeed, loneliness will even own up to knowing me.
09/01/08
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