The more experience I witness in life,
the more I wonder at my own ability.
Could I survive such emotional inconsistency?
Could I ever give in to this desire?
I walk the road of loneliness willingly,
tasting the bitterness of unrequited love
like a potion to drown my heart.
Sleep comes in the arms of a dream,
a vision I imagine there,
but morning comes and alone I am yet.
A strange contentedness rolls over me,
tempered by the pain of my solitude.
Each day a sword slowly pierces through my soul,
every sunrise it sinks deeper,
a painful pleasure reminding me of my existence.
Solitude is my sanctuary,
a painful, pale half-life lived in satisfaction,
burnt by the flames of denied passion.
My vision returns at odd moments,
coloring my life in shades of what might be,
yet I hold back still,
silence my alibi,
solitude my prison.
Could the image I dream of
reach his hand through my self-induced darkness?
Might I awake from this troubled slumber
to the woman I know I am?

© Johanna Fugitt 2017