The landscape is burnt orange and brown
Trees black and glistening-wet after rain.
Misty morning and the road winds
up and down hills.
If i could keep driving where would i go.
Would the road take me to where my
other life waits ?
The feeling of lost is nothing new,
It's been the shadow tugging at my heels all along.
It nips at me when i sit down to rest,
It tells me things I don't want to hear ...
Like that i didn't do enough,
and that i missed all my chances.
That i wasted my time and made selfish choices.
That i lost my path along the way
And now it's too late to find my way back.
I listened to the wrong voices more than once,
and ran when i got scared or confused.
Decisions made in fear instead of with courage
Now i'm haunted by the emptiness.
When i was young and feeling lost
I searched for a bar to lose my senses.
In numbness i could crash and forget for a while.
Loud music on a dark dance floor,
Feeling lost it's easy to fall into the wrong bed,
To go looking for answers in all the wrong places.
It can be hard to stay calm and to go through the
motions when it feels like something more drastic is called for.
I learnt long ago in that faraway place that madness is a
just a way of sinking into the lost, of letting go
rather than carrying on the fight.
I understand, that wanting to sink into nothingness.
It's a way out that doesn't hurt as much.
Nowadays storming doesn't help much,
and there are no bars and no wrong beds.
There are no lovesick poems for distraction,
No dreams of a new life ahead.
Only the burnt wet landscape and the same routines.
And me wondering what to do with my shadows.