Feelings of Failure/ I am here

I am here.
You are there.
Where is here?
I don’t even know this place.
However, it has a familiar atmosphere.
I am trapped here.
In bondage of chains and shackles, here.
Away from everyone else, here.
I am alone, here.
And you are there.
Like the moon, visible, but never attainable.
Not From here.
I crawl to get to you,
But fall exasperated every time.
The air is hazy and thick, here.
I sit on slate in a corner,
Bound by chains, tying down my extremities.
The rock floor and walls, along with the air, are all damp and cold.
My hands are numb, here.
They seem so distant and foreign now, as if they weren’t even mine.
They are suspended in air by the limp wrists on my arms, rested upon my knees,
Which are tucked close to my body, for warmth.
My hands are dangling like puppets that once were playful and comical.
They used to engage in much activity.
They used to engage in the creation of something more than themselves.
But not here.
The puppeteer is dying.
I am dying.
All I ever wanted was to reach you.
Maybe others would understand and follow me to you.
But they refused to follow a crazy man.
But they refused to open up.
So they locked me up to rot, here.
You can see me, trapped far below, dying in failure.
You pour down tears on the earth, weeping of the sorrow you see, here.
My sorrow, here.
You are LOVE.
You are too good for me.
That is what you are, there.
I don’t deserve you.
So I sit here dying,
Because I am also them, who locked me up.
I seal my own fate, here.
What a sad story.
That is what I am, here.


Finding Beauty in Ugly Places,
Sam.