This paralysis

*I say it again- read the date. This has been written weeks ago, and I’m far better now!*

Never before had this haunted heart

Been so quiet and abandoned

And who’ll believe- it’s a part of me,

Giving up the ghost in a tug-of-war,

That has no real reason,

And no end to depend.

 

This place has seen all kinds of pains,

But what clings today, is this paralysis

That makes me alien to my own senses,

And silent to my own interrogations.

Whatever is this numbness, however it is;

What makes it big is that ‘it is’,

And what makes it small is that ‘I am’.

 

I’m a glass with quite unmolded ends,

Raw to the eyes and aching to senses

A glass that can’t be shattered like this,

That can’t be wrecked

‘nd shall convalesce all cracks,

And if not,

I’ll stick to what I’ve befriended from weeks,

So no matter, what goes inside,

I won’t let you see my wounds through me.

Before you, I’m strong, and not paralyzed,

 

Maybe drowning in a kind of necessary hypocrisy,

Hypocrisy of moods, hypocrisy of gestures.

 

(03.02.2017)

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