Marshland Crossroad Pointer

I miss remembering her face.
Left is light trapped
in photovoltaics,
translated into data,
lingering in a storage place.
I only see trapped reflexions and
I can no longer hear the
outlines speaking to me.
I’m not looking for words to explain
what doesn’t make sense.
Even if it gave me
a nice thought in the end.
There are only a few more steps
to take
and when I overcome this fear
I will become
what I must be
what I could be
what I deep down fear.
Hopefully death won’t catch up with me
by then.
But if so,
let me tell you all, my fellow lost souls:
no one is to blame
for what a replaceable man
has done to himself.
Thank you.
I am now withdrawing from this stage.
The play is over,
damn it
go home.
The last one turns off the light.
I’ll lie here for a while,
thinking and dozing
in front of the curtains.
You are welcome to stay,
share a drink
a smile
but get that your not able
to look at me and
when you go
don’t look back at
what in retrospect
you make out to be
and think is me.
There is not another act
in this play
I have written yet.
Even the script pages
talking of the end
is locked in my chest
Of replaceable men
cheeky smiles
and things they could be.
The stage lights are nice and colorful
no wonder
they kept on blinding me.

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