Loathing

 

Loathing

Liken the language of love to the loathing of living.
Make sense? About how hard it is to love – you know?
And the times when simply breathing takes more life
Than your listless lungs wish to muster.

In these moments I stare starkly at nothing. A leaf.
Ants dribbling by on the window ledge; people far below;
Thin clouds wafting away, like wisps of white dreams;
The molded bread on the table which smiles cruelly.

In these moments I forget to breathe, so lost are
My real eyes and so far away has love slunk, sulking.
In these moments I could be a fish, water as oxygen
Inside looking out, as life mocks, calling – “love me.”

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About Pitboss14

Cosmic surfer of paradoxes.
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