“Are you sad?” someone asked me,
once upon, a day of winter.
“You look sad” he added
quickly, smiling grimly,
“Am I sad?” I smiled as well,
teeth of equal, sadly, colour,
teeth of yellow, filled with
“Am I sad? Sad for whom?”
was my answer, short and
my mind an
empty, empty room.
Then it struck me, it
flew right through me,
like a sudden, salty breeze,
sweeping in, the husk
so hollow, the husk I call,
my dear old head.
“Sad for whom? Sad for me!”
I pondered wisely,
daring, even, to stroke my
For I was broken, see, and
shattered fragments, stuck in
time. Like that steak, stuck
my yellowed teeth,
for hours long three.
“Sad for me? Heavens no!”
I said with vigour,
with bloody crimson,
cheeks of red.
“Sad for you! Yes for you!”
I added quickly, still
perspired, still a fool.
“Beg your pardon?”
came his answer, short and solid,
I am sad, you see, that I am. Sad because,
you’ll never know,
or even think, or feel, or grasp,
or touch or taste or smell or hold,
or curse or bless, caress or sense,
the essence of, my being whole”.
I spat with passion, bleeding flustered,
“So in a sense, you just confessed”
he turned to me
“that you are sad -for me, that is-
as I will never, be like you?”
he ended buffled, cheeks of rosy,
“Indeed I did” I turned and laughed,
and caught a glimpse, of mild annoyance,
that golden spark, that sparks all wars.
“For all we know, in this ol’ world,
is what we see, perceive and feel,
receive and deal, a riddle riddled, with
bullets bitter, silver steel.
The world I know, is I alone. All is me
and nothing you. You are nothing, nothing, really.
I am sad, that I am, deceive me not, with clouds and lies.
My world lies here, in me alone, devoid of time,
and shades of doubt.”
A staggered stag, reproached my sight,
a frightened beast, approaching death.
He flinched and fled, in wild amaze,
in hopes to find, a safer place.
“Alas, that place is nowhere” I said to me.
To him and you, and maybe her. But mostly, me.
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