Your disappointment settles around me
Like a thick April fog.
Impermeable,
Inescapable.
I walk all the way home
And it still it envelops me.
I try to separate it
With some smoke of my own
To no avail.
It takes me up the stairs
Hoisting and carrying me,
Yet all the while bringing me down.
I wonder at the fact that it matters,
Then chide myself for foolish queries.
Misty eyed
Craving clarity
I try for one last solution.
Blood, perhaps, will work.
Seems successful on the battlefield.
Fog always clears
On days when fresh blood spills.
After all,
My body is a kind of war zone.
A slash.
A gash.
The thin red line.
I wonder if I’m satisfied,
Then chide myself for foolish queries.
Life is just a series of disappointments.
