The hill that I sit upon still glistens with mud,
As it feels like the rain never ends,
Like my face will never dry.
As I'm inundated with ironic tears from the sky;
Tears I thought I never cried
Because they weren't mine,
Because they belonged to other souls,
Souls more damaged than mine, more confused that my essence.
But my essence is more lost than them all.
All of time to spend with no-one who understands me anymore,
Not even myself.
I don't understand jack s***.
Oh! Scentless, tasteless, sightless, soundless, void-in-feeling epiphany!
That's why I sit on this hill.
Because it's just like me.
It erodes everyday,
Oh so slowly,
Oh so quietly,
And it only rains when everyone is sleeping.
Green with envy, brown with shame,
Dashes and squashlings of red pain and blue self-pity and dirty yellow happiness
That aren't truly deserved on this hill,
And every other stereotypical yet unique colour of madness and lunacy.
But to them it's just a muddy hill,
It's not getting smaller!
The colours will come back!
Well, will they?
But to get down.
As I've drowned in my thoughts,
The thoughts I thought belonged to other souls.
The hill shakes until I'm roused from my daze.
And I see the sun glaring at me from over the horizon.
An awkward friend that I haven't seen for as long as Bangladesh hasn't seen a drought.
It dries up the hill,
And my clothes, and my face.
And I start wrinkling like a grey raisin.
And I realise what the sun is trying to tell me,
Because now I'm an old man,
I've lost all my hair,
My grimace is set,
I'm four times the age of my poor deceased pet.
A ray burns through my chest
But I don't feel a thing.
Once I've turned around to look.
I see a perfectly imperfect, utopian tree;
Where there are apples and cherries and blossoms galore.
The last time I turned around it was nothing but a sapling.
And that's what I've missed,
I aged in a flash, now my youth must return.
The man who's degraded unlike Benjamin Button.
That's all the tree did! It simply,