Home ยป Malade

These people I stand with: who are they?
Ill lone is shattered like storm enraged,
A thought raced becomes a torrent erased,
No wind would blow, glasses cling to say:
Hail the wine! whispering, hail my sorrow.

Now poison me, and bring more and more.
And more.
That brings itself till dusk I am dawn.
Like the butterfly shattering.
Tis shattered.
My fragment lost, no wings bloomed. Gone.

I’ll be that clown to smile and be a photo.
I’ll laugh of course. I have to, or I’m fired.
Now birds sing, I’ll sing too; just a life.
No one’s around. The rain still pours. I’ll sing.

Ah, the pills! I’ll take one. No. Just another.
Whisper again, is it then I am this creature?
You say I’m a caterpillar. Wrap myself, you say?
Wrap myself in a cocoon of thought. Just that.
My rhyme is lost. I could hardly breathe in here.

Well, a butterfly can laugh. Look at its wings:
One half their colour emanates the rays.
The other half, my soul sinks an ocean apart.
Yet, I think to myself amongst all these people,
Why am I even here? What am I even supposed to do?

Then, not an hour passes, my thoughts disturbed,
I’ll bring smiles again. My tuxedo brazen with pride,
But in me, there’s none left that I can fathom;
The brood of my kind is but extinct to last,
Then I myself am in this world denied.

Observing the others, I see myself as ‘other’;
Observing beyond, the moon is my ally now:
Observing me, it shines a light where others can’t,
Observing all who do, that none would half converse.

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