Martyr

There's a time and a place for everything, they say
and it's never been the time
nor the place
for this.
A sense of isolation is starting to equate to a sense of comfort
no need to risk silly things like emotions
when I'm already comfy with
this.
Accused of running from the truth, I swear
I swear I'm running for answers
trying to make sense of
this.

Apologies run rampant
but I'll be damned if I let them loose.
I'll never be sorry enough, anyway.
You sure as hell won't be, either.

Words are losing their meaning, I've settled back into
this
abyss, this recession, this absence of action
this act of lament, a victim of fashion, fads, whims
bad ideas with good intentions
a series of fuckups and shutdowns
shutouts and second chances
burning bridges while I'm running on them
the leap of faith has got me falling
falling
and you can only ever fall alone, no matter who you're clawing at
clinging to
trying to take with you

There's an end, eventually, as there is with everything
everything
and finally fallen, I can favor my faltering footseps, knowing it made things easier all along.

I am no martyr.

I man the turrets, systematically shooting invaders
when the hull is breached, self-destruct!
If I don't win, no one does.

Comfort.
Therein lies the deceit.
A simple satisfaction, savor the moment, live in the moment, tomorrow never matters.
But tomorrow always comes
and we're caught defenseless
senseless we're running to catch up to the game we thought we played
we were getting played all the while.

Empty clarity.
Everything remains so wonderfully complex
but like a knot in a shoelace
comes undone with
just
one
tug
and you're left with a simple piece of string.

An affront to the eyes, how dare we break things down.
How dare we take things as they are!
How dare we refuse to get caught up!
Fingers work fervently to knot things up, knock us out, not to take it personally
but we're not meant for their mess.

Maybe I'm just not meant for yours.
Or you're not meant for my own.

Apologies attack
seeking sense
walls wither
knowing nothing

There's a time and a place for everything, they say
but the time has passed
and we're nowhere near
where we needed to be.

I am no martyr.
I'm sorry.