Perhaps it is the uncertainty that is enthralling

or

the jadedness from apprehending the same [redacted] beat repeatedly,

overwhelming yet calming.

Familiar, isn’t it?

The rhythm ceremoniously similar to the repetition

of life to you…. you think too much.

Anxiety explores the crevices of your heart

while melancholy drapes you in its embrace.

You take 8 deep breaths since 4 wasn’t enough last time

and now you’re back to pondering

about the same abstract nonsense some more.

A minuscule fraction of the universe you’ve seen

but you try to speak like a sage;

a book knowing the unknown.

You sing notes of blatant lies, write verses of self-pity,

dance the glossary of self-sabotage

and anticipate sympathy for the pain at fault that you cause.

Perhaps it is the uncertainty that is enthralling

because

you just can’t seem to move on.

You’re wedged in a loop of feeling feelings of your own

and of others – way too much of what you don’t own.

Maybe you’re just greedy.

Either way or anyway,

here,

another piece of a collection of arbitrary words,

a badly written ode to your pathetic being,

a seeking for sympathy

while I pity myself.

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