i am less real

the weight is heavy in my chest…
is it regret?
for another fumbled mess.

the long, hard days
stretch out far ahead.
outnumbering the good,
light days
more and more
these days.

i wake up tired
go to bed wired.
and the sadness permeates me.
like a sponge dipped in
murky water.

i am barren.
i am ashamed.
i am lost.

i can no longer tell if i’m holding on
or letting go.

words feel hollow,
and the effort to express them
a waste.

i used to think i was wrong.
for spending so much time in grey.
and now,
as the world continues to spin,
as the burning moves from figurative to literal,
i feel a twisted redemption within me.
“see,”
i say
as i point:
“this is what i’ve been warning you of.”

and then i slowly realize,
with confused terror
that no one
is looking at me.
i am less real
than the unimpressive imitations
of life
streaming before their eyes.