Mottled Yellow

Realising that life has passed you by.

Darkness or nothingness, creeping at my window,

Hollow shells of lifeless hours, endless monotony.

Worldless, I stare, to where you once were,

My own ghost stands, staring back at me.


A frame was built, but never to be filled,

Love lost, hope gone, dreams never made,

All of them were a lost cause, from the start,

As ideas, not created, will never shrink or fade.


The phantom of my now, indifferent or deterred,

Stands, unblinking, soulless, heartless and dead,

I stare at it, and it, at me, hating what I’ve become,

The loss I felt was enough to drag myself to bed.


I let the unparting nothingness cloud my mind,

My specter already gone, unseen ‘til next eve.

White painted ceiling, turning mottled yellow,

No love for this hellhole will make it easier to leave.


What did I think?  I never knew, I never would.

The light, fluorescent, grew too blinding to bare,

I closed my eyes, and saw my mind; nothing.

I, the robot of human, don’t know why to care.


All days are a mesh, routine made a fool of me,

Yesterday was my life, as will be tomorrow.

Who am I?  What am I?  When will I live?

One day, I hope to live without empty sorrow.


Dusk, or dawn, I care not to remember,

Embraces the sky, streaks of darkness gone.

I see, once more, the mottle yellow paint,

I could stay here forever, instantly forgotten.


Sunlight rolls over the aged window sill,

Bringing warmth to rid the forever cold.

I grow out of bed, a flower first awake,

But the mirror now tells me I’m already old.


My ghost stares back, shocked, but dead,

All this time, sleepwalking, left me aged.

Sorrow floods, no one to blame but me,

My own heart had kept me caged.

The End

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