Numb

I stare across a vast expanse

Contemplating if the fall

Would be much greater than the current

Which, of yet, has no equal.

I think not, for this is soothing.

This one would be beautiful;

Flowers, lush greens, shining lights

That, in twilight, softly twinkle.

If it were to blur together

Something brilliant’d take form;

Leaves and petals in this end,

Pale visage, would adorn.

Truly, this is nothing kin to

Writhing, plummeting to hell --

Punishments for perpetrators

Whom, to lust, their bodies sell.

I am not a decent person,

So I don't take solemn flight.

Though mine be a wingless back

Such deceit forfeits the right.

I have earned no crown of thorns

All I deserve is her spite;

That which karma duly deals thee

When sick fancies breed delight.

Per-haps you think this self pity;

I pity not the selfish kind.

I'll think nothing of forgiveness

If none, in my own heart, I find.

How could I ask so much of thee?

What sense of hypocrisy

Would I need to beg forgiveness?

I've not the audacity.

So now I'm staring at the sky,

Pinkish-orange, and dull in hue

Layered 'pon the frames of buildings

Bricked and mortared, standing true.

Erect, proud, and nothing like me,

Despite the lack of emotion

Which their countenance maintains

Amongst a droll and daily din.

All the drama is but draining;

I’ve no miseries nor fears.

My eyes are wet because it's raining

Not from thick rivulets of tears.

Any misting that you view

Is but reflection of the skies,

Not the byproduct of deep rue

Lighting down upon these eyes.

Looking round from up above,

All this, I do contemplate;

Not the dying of a friendship,

Not her demons, rage, nor hate...

Now, again, I hear a tolling

To remind me time exists.

Far too late, for I've decided

All of this is meaningless

As I lean against a pane

Writing verses just to feel

Something, anything again

Beyond the bell's vibrating peal.