#1

I sit here, slouch, immersed in passivity.

How did I get here? How am I this way? A question that emerges yet again..

The aria streaming through my ears moves me not in the slightest

Who are you, you who has no power?

You who sways with the torrents
Tossed as though lifeless, for am I not so?

My family I have distanced, and they have hence reciprocated this courtesy
I, alone, old, grown, sad.

And the tears, oh the tears of pity and pain.
Is this life? Oh, the dreams of my youth beckon
And I sit here, passive, limp, truly void

Is this but a phase?
Indeed, voices. sounds fill me within,
incessant, arbitrary, distractive

I sway hither
Purposeless
Limp

And I can do nothing,
or can I?

I see the power but I have no will to take it,
much less apply it well,
for the voices, the tendencies, the complusions
swell within,
smother any flame of hope without notice or warning
time and again

So I sit here,
Limp
Tearful yet dry-eyed,
Passive yet sombre
Empty and yearning
For I sit by the dock
Oars at the ready
Boat un-noosed
But no will to move

Awash,
Sad,
Praying within
Is this the adult life I have so dreamt of, worked towards,
For I have borne many pains, many tears, many a burden,
Only to be this spineless carapace
That renders all around ash and nothingness
That repels all progress
That is so hellbent on digging the deepest pit
For there is never enough misdeed to quench the emptiness
No hedonistic indulgence sweet enough to cap the gaping hollow

And so I sit on the boat
On the way to nowhere
And I knock the door to the inner power within
But no one responds
So I cry, truly I do

For then I realize
I am a victim

Indeed I have ever been so
but emerged all the same
I can't now
for there is no will to emerge
not really

Why ever, Eve, did you pick of the forbidden tree?
For 'twas indeed your demise
To indulge curiosity

So I sit here,
And know not to have done so,
but I did,
and it makes all the difference,
and so I cry.