exhausted

I’m just a man whose made mistakes. Are you sad? Are you locked inside? Holding yourself will only make you feel more alone. She couldn’t afford the truth. Salt streaks down your cheek.

Like all the colour’s been drained out, seeping out through the pores of my life. And then this tinted grey and dumb faded palette of view sinks into my heart. I hope to God I figure out what’s wrong. Dirty and wrong. One sad person, sitting in his own life, dirty to his own decisions. Dirty to the life he’s lived. Conquests on the walls, hung like trophies to fallen crusades. Wrung and torn, curling at the points. Dusty and sad, faces that have never been and who stare, only in my own mind to what is dirty and wrong.

Like I could reach out my arm and you could pass right through. A spectre to the present and a memory to the past. A hope to the future and a lost, shimmering, shaking image to those who can see me for me. Black pupils, numb to your own. Shaking, locked, unforgiving, longing and broken. Sad, dirty, broken eyes.