fallacie101

I was born to deal with Multiple Sclerosis,
Albeit genetic, environmental or the unfortunate
luck of the draw?

Who knows? I am a born sacrifice to my own
happiness. I give it up so easily,
almost freely
but not without a fight.
I aspire to be a writer
and only when on suicides prayer

can I write - Anything.
I take my happy pills and lose
the writer in me. I lose a part of me
the ALL of who I'm supposed to be. I don't take
mind altering pills in fear,
the forthcoming dementia
the vacancy between waiting to die
and suffering to live.
I become the blank
an object of the void.
The cliche, the wanna be
I think I know who I am
But do I?

I have no glorious imagery of sunsets in Haiti
or in the Falls of Niagara where
I was born and raised - I have not the moon
obliterating moon rocks showers into my soul, I
have not a creative metaphor to release
me from who I am.

I don't know what that is. A wanna be?
A poser? A hopeful (to be) failure
wishing, praying I am more than that,
I've let myself become.

I've devolved - mutated. I've been sucked backwards
and no matter the stroke I spread forward through the tides
controlled by the moon that did not deliver the ocean.
Instead left me there to sink
drowning in myself. The nothing
I created, I've devolved into the
form of a belly up fish, gills drawing
the air of land and not the waters below.

Belly up with desires - unforetold truths
of who I want to be and a punch in the heart
of who I am, nor will ever be.
Although the need is there
for the suffocating breath of need.

I claim to be a writer, what a cliche, the writer
who cannot write in brilliant images,
all reflections of that I am
seen through salt water waves.
I am devoid from even that,
the black hole the moon went forth into,
taking the promised rocks, it's rocks
were for me!
It took them from shattering my soul.

Was I robbed of this dream
or did I give it up?
Did I not swim strong enough
with the current, and so the tide sucked
me back out into this oblivion.

A palace of mediterranean beautiful nothing.
Should I accept there is not a forward
greeting my arrival?
Or so should devolving the being
I call the wanna be me, release?

Will this be the last fleeting attempt
to my lost world; or is it
that it's not my world to be lost in;

Dithering.