No Me Please.

Solitude is beautiful.
A beautiful pain.
The stars of memories haunting,
blinking and smiling.
Reliving again.
Reflecting past, painful.

Masochism brimming.
In thoughts and deeds.
I think of myself, pitiful.
My life, a bubble, a water bubble.
Escaping in sighs and pants.
Murdered, by deeds past.

Wish I had no solitude.
No past...
Wish I had no memories.
No myself.
Wish, there was no me.

Comments

smokecanopy said…
Biting pessimism but very good poem. All I can say is: break the rear-view mirror and see the undulating road ahead.
January 17, 2009 at 8:24 PM
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