It is a thing

I don’t know what I’m doing

Or why I continue this cycle of self-defeat

Repeating thoughts and theories still stewing in a pot built of residue left of uncertainty

I’ve taken it away- and away again

The songs the thoughts the memories

Erasing them away only to find them flow from pen

Torn out every page soaked in tears of ink over months of moments when my mind became the bitter backstory of my worst enemy

Every piece of me touched by the time spent wandering to you and the possible impossibilities

Delusional hopes feed illusion’s dreams like it’s starving for a notion that was never meant to be

Or was it?

Was IT meant to be?

What was it? What is it? 

Is this ‘it’ still hiding in the corners of your day to day routine? 

When a thing becomes a thing and you ache to tell the relevant things that make each day a day, and not contentment haunting dreams

Does it sear your very soul as you crave to share these things and the way they only matter in a world that shares its dreams

Do you stop yourself in motion as you reach out to commune with the very soul that bares it all and aches to share it too

What thought becomes a thing when you think of ‘it’ again and you have to hold back ‘wanting’ for an ‘it’ that’s never been

Or the ‘it’ that really was and the ‘things’ that made it real

Do you think of them in passing or do they make you feel

Do you feel? 

Have you felt numb for all this time? 

I’ve pain for seeking solace
And grief stacks line by line
Lost to the emotion that I can’t help but resent

Like a gift that’s been regifted from a friend to not a friend

Disconnected from connection in the time it takes to unload a tainted reservation of the partial pause to upload

The portrait of the time it took to grasp the realization that every time we gasped for air was fact, not painted fiction, and every spoken word that left out the unspoken in a vague and soulless message left to save a soul’s devotion

All the ways that never needed said and times that understood a cypher language left unread in times that never could

Stripped of the abilities to channel pain to tear and the chance to gather rage for all the things that now I fear

Wandering the world with a lack of ways to sense- every level of emotion that makes for recompense and the basic ways to process all the simple sentiments as the world just keeps on going and I’m left with no defense. 

What now, to defend?
What now, to protect?

Protect a sightless sense of faith
Some form of hope you don’t reflect?

I’m broken. 

Lost within my own accord. 

I gave too much away to a debt I can’t afford. 

What now?

Do I simply cease to be?

Am I just to stay defeated as I’m trying to defeat?

I try and try and try to resist this ghostly force that keeps me coming back to you with no reason to enforce

With every ounce of effort made to take a step away, the weight is multiplied and the gravity remains. 

There’s no logic in the lack of facts that simply will not cease or the things that cause delusion as I try to give release- taking all the reasons for why I shouldn’t care and burning them to ashes as it singes lifeless stare 

What’s left to understand in this half of what it is and the claims that it was fiction and some game to just pretend? 

Do you see things that come as a relief when you happen past a thing that makes you think of me? Are you staying blind to make sure you forget or to save your mind from swaying from the force of ‘it’?

Will I ever understand what happened in-between

or this thing that will not die.. 

it will not set me free..

What if this thing is ‘it’?

What is this ‘if’ thing? 

What if ‘it’ is ‘love’? What ‘if’ love is ‘it’?

What if all it was.. 

Was enough for it to be…

Rachel Camp 2019

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