I Wait for the New Year

Vision distorted
What to use?
A memory, a nightmare or a hope?
Sleep, drug enhanced confusion

Body ache, acrid metallic soreness
Of the ovum white helpers after time
Deep burning, stomach diseased
Heart, throat being as if torn from myself

Nervous cold, December sunshine
A rain, early dark
I look at my prone naked imperfect flesh
Clammy coldness yet to the feel if frostbitten
The eerie silent, yet close to them

A ridicule and laugh still struck in my deep cerebrum
After sleep, after dream, after nightmare, the morning confused
I still feel ashamed
I am empty

Maybe this will always be?
Why am I sure?, just waiting in the line of the inevitable future
Fate that was stamped Aeons afore.

Without Gods, without fate, without me or you, Faith?
Penetrating to the Metaphysical world that floats in the conscience
Envy, Hubris, just me I feel to fall
With no proof of existence
Or never will be.

Ian V. Seymour ©2011

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