Prisoner

The air is motionless, heavy and thick. 

The quiet streets seem ominous, as if silently hiding a secret or a cruel trick.

An emptiness devours the day

while underneath a suffering sky of pure gray

struggles to cough up the tiniest crumb of sunlight

before it tumbles down to a dreadfully still afternoon.

An early darkness is coming soon 

and we will eat this day as perfectly congealed portions served from a spoon.

 

The handsome thieves that steal our breath

deal in a darkness that isn't death.

 

Today I am a prisoner of the sky.

Its yellow glow holds me in

and magnifies the dirt on my skin

like a flashing motel sign or an advertisement of my fears.

Try to wipe it off but it only smears.

 

The sun, once merciful, opens ia bleeding mouth to drain its wound 

as an empathetic monsoon

that falls like chaotic bombs everywhere.

It spits out the ashes of a million lives and a million dreams that lived and died here or maybe there -

Dreams of people who bravely took a chance

and then murdered later by circumstance.

Their hopes were no less than mine - still few will witness and fewer will care.

Perhaps they existed nowhere

in this universe or a single point in time.

Maybe I have reason to fear

the echoing monotone growing louder in my ear.

 

Already it has forgotten me.

It never asked my name, acknowledged my life or slightly cared

if I had dreams or if sometimes I am scared

of tomorrow or of an empty today.

But I know what they will say.

I should tour a museum or save a whale.

I should fry in a pan so I don't look pale.

 

I want to believe your words.

And If I am lucky they will be true.

Because we should be closer, me and you -

like a tourist posing with a statue.

Such a picture looks so very sincere.

We will swear to feel just as it appears.

It will look real and we will say it is true,

but my burning flesh reminds me that I don't know you.

You could be a mirage in the yellow heat.

You will pull away my chair and say have a seat.

If I feel anything you will always run away

as everyone does from a calculated smile

or a funny story you'll forget in a while.

The memory fades like all else unreal.

Like it I couldn't possibly feel

anything. Anything at all.

 

No one really means what they say.

Invisible words are so easily denied.

But tears leave a trail when they've dried.

How silly to expect honesty anyway?

 

Maybe you are real but maybe I am not.

Either way the sun remains uncomfortably hot

And I am closing a door

 

on this yellow day I shall dream no more.

It is an empty day today.

and I shall be on my way.